The Worst Possible Time
by Ganymede Rose
Summary: A twist on Beckett's interrupted confession at the end of season two.
1. Chapter 1

**The Worst Possible Time**

A twist on Beckett's interrupted confession at the end of season two.

* * *

Kate Beckett is giddy. Her whole body feels light, as if she tossed aside an enormous weight she didn't know she was carrying.

She's attracted to Richard Castle. She has a crush on him, one of those crushes that has her smiling for no reason now that she's finally acknowledged her feelings.

The last time she felt this way, she was thirteen, but she's pretty sure even that first crush can't compare to this one. At thirteen, her crush was a nebulous, new thing, less about the boy and more the newness of attraction. It was her first brush with hormones and the possibility of love. With the benefit of hindsight and experience, Kate recognizes that that boy was more a convenient target than an intended one.

Richard Castle is different. She knows him. Knows his quirks, knows how deftly he can get under her skin. Knows his sordid history, one littered with women, including two ex wives.

She also knows what a good father he is. How trustworthy he is. How smart and caring. How he pays attention to the little details, like how she likes her coffee and whether someone is right or left handed.

She has a crush on Richard Castle because she knows him for his good and bad parts. She knows the warnings that come with him, and she's willing to risk it. She is not merely admitting to this attraction. She's going to act on it. Now. Tonight.

Kate touches up her nude lipstick. For once, she wishes she had a more exciting color at work. Not red but something warm and pink and feminine.

Given her plans to confess her attraction to Castle, she should have a lipstick color more exciting than beige. She wants her lips to look kissable at the moment his face lights up as he realizes he's getting what he wants. She expects that warmth, that smile to help her push through her fear and ask if the invitation to the Hamptons still stands.

Kate wants to go to the Hamptons, but beyond that, all she sees is a question mark. She both knows and doesn't know what she wants next. Half of her wants to spend the weekend naked in his bed, attempting to catch up on months of sexual tension. Another part wants to take it slow, trust that this is only the first of many weekends in the Hamptons and there's no rush.

The odd part is, Kate's more concerned about the former happening. Much as she wants to rip off his clothes, Richard Castle is different than the men who came before him. She's never felt this way before, and there's a good possibility something like this will never come her way again. She wants to savor each moment, doesn't want to miss anything, even as she yearns for all of him.

Kate looks in the bathroom mirror one more time. She fiddles with her hair, tucks more of it behind her ear. She's glad there are so few women who work on the homicide floor. She doesn't want to explain preening in front of a mirror to anyone.

She's stalling. She's giddy, but she's stalling.

She pictures Castle's smile, the broad one that shows his laugh lines. She's loves that smile, a combination of little boy impish and maturity. It's Richard Castle in a nutshell.

That image steels her resolve. She heads for the conference room.

* * *

When Kate asks to speak with Castle, a bubble of nervous energy explodes in her stomach. Her entire body feels zapped by a live wire, ready to shake apart.

She looks at Castle, calm, reliable Castle. He is reliable. That's one of the things she focuses on when he annoys her.

"What's up?" he asks when they step out into the empty bullpen. It's the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, and no one is here who doesn't absolutely have to be here.

This is it. This is her moment. "Look, I know that I'm not the easiest person to get to know, and I don't always let on what's on my mind. But this past year, working with you, I've had a really good time."

He agrees with her, but her stomach twists. The hard part is on deck, and she's terrified. All of her giddiness has fled the scene.

Kate looks down and finds an interesting spot on the floor. "So I'm just – I'm just – " No. She needs to look at him, because that's the only way she'll be able to say what she needs to say. She looks up, but his face is shuttered, closed.

Oh God. She misread something. She misunderstood him. Her heart free falls into her feet.

"Demming."

Kate frowns. "Demming? Castle – "

"Detective, could I have a word?"

Kate turns, and there's Demming. Standing behind her, his expression neutral.

Her ex-boyfriend of all of an hour and change just walked in on her about to confess her feelings for Castle. Kate feels sick with it, because Demming doesn't deserve to have this thrown in his face.

Bad as she feels for the other detective, he really does have lousy timing. Kate does her best to smile and be professional. This awkwardness between them, this is why she avoided dating cops before him. "Sure."

Kate turns to Castle. She hates the frown on his face. "I really do need to talk to you, Castle, but – "

"You need to talk to Demming. I get it. Go." His voice is monotone, deep but flat, lacking the normal undertone of misbehavior.

Castle walks back into the conference room. Kate wants to follow, to finish explaining, to see his face light up like she planned.

Instead she turns to Demming.

"Tom, what's up?"

He looks uncomfortable. He looks so uncomfortable, and Kate can't blame him. She has no idea how much he heard, how much he put together from the available evidence. He's a good cop. That's part of what attracted her to him. He's good at connecting the dots, at figuring out the whole story, and Kate hates to think of what the dots tell him now.

If only 'it's not you, it's me' weren't such a trite phrase. In this case, it really is the truth.

"You were the lead detective on the Esau Rodriguez case."

It takes Kate a moment to place the name. It was one of her final B.C. (Before Castle) cases. "Yes. Why?"

"We've been keeping tabs on a second-hand jewelry store over on 86th for a couple of weeks following reports that they're trafficking stolen goods. This morning, we got some needed evidence and a tip that something big was going down this weekend. There was a raid this afternoon. Brady thinks one of the pieces might be from the Rodriguez case."

"One of Esau Rodriguez's missing rings?"

"Think so, but it'd be nice to have someone who worked on the original case check it out." Demming is everything professional, but Kate knows him. His eyes are shuttered, and his tone stiff. "I'm headed over to the shop in about five."

"Yeah, of course. Let me tell Montgomery. I'll meet you down in robbery."

Demming nods and walks away. Kate briefly watches him, admires how he stands tall even though his gaze is sad.

She hates hurting him. Tom is one of the good guys. He's just not the right guy.

She looks over at the conference room. Everyone's laughing. Based off gestures, Kate guesses Ryan and Espo are telling the story of their first day as partners. Her eyes drift to Castle. He's smiling and laughing, but there's a stiffness in his posture, something she's seen too much lately.

He doesn't know she isn't with Demming anymore. She didn't have time to tell him.

"And what were you and the good detective discussing?" Lanie asks with a raised eyebrow when Kate opens the door.

"A case. Looks like they found Esau Rodriguez's missing rings." Kate shifts uncomfortably. "Since I was the lead detective on his case, robbery's asked me to check them out."

"Looks like you're never off duty for long," Castle says with a biting undercurrent.

Kate has so much to say to Castle, but there's no time and too many people. Instead she smiles at him, hopes to revive some of the earlier revelry. "Don't worry, Castle. I'll be quick. I know how dangerous it is to leave you unattended for long."

Espo and Ryan chuckle, but Castle doesn't rise to the bait. He looks up at her, his eyes shadowed. "Have a good summer, Beckett."

Kate works her jaw, wanting to find a way in one sentence to say what she had expected to take paragraphs. She comes up empty. "You too, Castle."

"Keep me updated on the rings, Detective," Montgomery says.

"Will do, sir."

Kate leaves. With any luck, she can be back within an hour. The sooner she gets back, the sooner she can explain to Castle why she hopes to have a good summer.

* * *

Beckett stares at the display case. "You didn't tell me there were this many rings."

Her plans for a quick onceover vanished once she saw the rows and rows of rings. And not just rows: some rings are dumped into bowls, glass vases, even a small fish tank.

The entire store is jammed pack, full of not just earrings and rings but cast offs of all types. Antique art deco lamps sit on top of scuffed gold-gilt mirrored tables from the '80s. Bronze statues cover a black side table with paint chipping off from the Mexican-inspired floral pattern.

Demming chuckles dryly. "I didn't know. This is my first time down here too."

Kate's eyes drift over the variety of styles crammed together: Victorian next to modern next to straight-up gaudy. "This is going to take your guys weeks to sort through. I'm remembering why I didn't go into robbery."

"And here I thought it was your obsession with the macabre."

Kate smiles, glances up at him. Their eyes meet. It's warm and familiar.

Tom is handsome and sweet. If not for Richard Castle, Kate can easily picture a different life. One with a weekend at a beach house in Asbury and teasing Tom about how much he loves coaching youth basketball, even as she goes to the games whenever she can and cheers for him. One with more nights like last week, when they curled up together on his couch and discussed their current cases.

Tom is one of the good guys. He deserves someone who wants to be with him for more than being a good guy, someone as crazy about him as Kate is about Castle.

Demming looks away suddenly, and Kate hates how his eyes go dark. "Already planning on bringing a specialist in after the holiday. I wouldn't be surprised if some of these pieces no longer have the original stones."

"Then why keep the originals?" Beckett needs to focus on the job and the case in front of them. Their parting is still new enough that it's easy to fall back into their patterns as a couple.

Demming waves a hand. "Pretty settings. Place was known to do a good trade in costume jewelry."

"I had no idea you were such an expert in jewelry."

There's another flash of something in Demming's eyes. Kate belatedly considers that maybe teasing the guy she just dumped about his taste in jewelry isn't the best way to keep things light.

There's no way for this to not be awkward. For Demming's sake, Kate needs to figure out how to make her exit as quick as possible.

He shifts his feet and motions to a ring on the top of the display case. "This is the ring Brady recognized."

Kate picks up the ring and angles it to check for the coiled writing inside the ring. "Yeah, this is it. It's a distinctive piece. And the engraving is here. 'Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?'"

"You can read that?"

"It was a key part of the murder investigation. His mistress carved it into his chest after she shot him."

Demming's eyebrows raise. "I can see how that detail would stick in your head."

Kate grins. "That's not even – "

The echo of a scuffle outside draws their attention. Kate's hand drifts to her gun. She starts to take a step forward, but Demming puts a hand out and steps first. It bothers Kate until she remembers this is a robbery case. That gives him the right to lead.

"You cannot enter here, sir! Step away from the door!" Beckett recognizes the reedy tenor of the young officer guarding the entrance.

Demming glances at her in silent communication. They move forward as one, guns out but trained down. Shouting echoes from the sidewalk as Demming and Beckett weave through the scattered hodgepodge of furniture. The officer, who Kate had thought looked like he had just shaved for the first time, cycles through the normal warnings that are straight out of the Academy. Another man yelling: you can't prevent me! It's my business!

Tom is nearly at the door when the gunshot rings out.

Adrenaline kicks into high gear. Guns drawn, Demming and Beckett dash out onto the sidewalk. The young officer is on the ground. Kate looks down the sidewalk to see an average-sized man sprinting away.

Demming is already calling for back up when Beckett says, "I got him."

She takes off after the suspect. It's odd to only hear her footsteps. She's grown used to the echo of Castle's footsteps trailing hers. No time for that now. She can think about the summer without her shadow later.

Her gaze never wavers from the man running ahead of her. She catalogues every possible detail about him, searches for some unique identifying characteristic. The suspect has yet to even turn around, and as it is, the NYPD can't exactly issue a BOLO for a man of medium height with brown hair wearing jeans and a black jacket.

Beckett's running flat out, and while she's pretty quick, he's faster. He also has a lead. Beckett begins to accept there's a good chance she won't catch him.

As if summoned, a cruiser appears out of nowhere and slams to a stop at the intersection. The suspect hesitates, spins and begins to run back toward Beckett. Like the rest of him, his face is unremarkable.

The man has her entire attention. Out of the corner of her eye, Beckett sees two uniforms jump out of the car, yelling as pedestrians scatter. The suspect raises his gun, aims it at nothing particular. The two uniforms are running after him and have a better chance at nabbing him than Beckett does

Time slows as Beckett switches to a walk and aims at the suspect. She shots the standard warnings as she closes in on him. Around her, bystanders panic and scramble to get out of the line of fire. People shout to each other, and Beckett does her best to block out the surrounding chaos.

The suspect weaves through the crowd, using bystanders as a sort of moving shield. Kate's not confident she can get off a shot without injuring an innocent. The uniforms are almost on their suspect. Kat continues shouting her litany – police, put down the weapon, don't shoot – when the boom of a gunshot rolls down the street.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the incredibly warm welcome to the Castle fandom. I was delighted with the reaction to The Subway Thief, and I hope this one is similarly enjoyable. My current plan is to update this story once a week.


	2. Chapter 2

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 2

 _Where we left: "The suspect weaves through the crowd, using bystanders as a sort of moving shield. Kate's not confident she can get off a shot without injuring an innocent. The uniforms are almost on their suspect. Kat continues shouting her litany – police, put down the weapon, don't shoot – when the boom of a gunshot rolls down the street."_

* * *

Kate Beckett is pouting. Sulking because this was not supposed to be her weekend.

She is supposed to be in the Hamptons with Castle. She is not supposed to be in the hospital, recovering from a bullet to her right shoulder and surgery to repair the damage.

"Tom, I'm fine," she says for the third time in an hour.

She's also not supposed to be with Demming.

"I'm not leaving you here alone," he says for the third time as well. They're perfecting the art of a circular conversation.

Tom doesn't want to leave her alone, even though things between them are strained, and she doesn't want to call anyone. Their team has a rare weekend off. If she calls Kevin or Espo, they'll be here in the hospital. If not the hospital, then at the precinct helping tie up the loose ends from last night. Espo and Ryan need time off, and Kate refuses to be the one who interrupts that much-needed downtime because of a minor injury.

Montgomery knows. Beckett spoke with him briefly on the phone this morning, but he didn't push when she told him to enjoy the time with his family. He joked that he'd give her a few days to let her ego heal.

Roy got close to the truth with that joke about her ego. Right now, she very much wants to slink off into a corner to lick her wounds.

But Demming won't leave her alone.

"You should be proud," he says. Tom won't leave her alone, but he has at least refrained from taking the blame for Beckett ending up with a hole in her shoulder. Guilt lurks in his eyes, but there's a world of difference between feeling something and giving voice to it.

"I'd be prouder if I'd managed to avoid the bullet altogether." Already, Kate chafes at being sidelined. It doesn't bode well for the rest of her summer.

"You dove in front of a bullet and saved two bystanders from getting hurt. Pretty sure that's taking the protect part of our job literally."

Kate snorts. "Yeah, well, I should have been able to save them and avoid the injury."

Beckett's run those few seconds in her head multiple times since coming out from under the anesthesia. If she had to guess, she'd say she also spent the time while under anesthesia running the scenario, given how deeply it's already etched into her memory. She has yet to figure out what she could have done differently to prevent the collision of the bullet and her right shoulder.

Demming leans forward on his elbows, rubs his hands together. "Are you sure I can't call – your Dad?"

Castle. He was going to say Castle. Kate doesn't want Castle to see her like this, pale and weak and immobile. This was the weekend he was supposed to see at her sexiest, an object of desire and not an object of pity.

"He's fishing upstate. Out of cell range until Monday." Kate smiles. "It's good. This way I don't have to feel guilty about interrupting his weekend. I don't want to interrupt your weekend either, Tom."

"You're not. Besides, I don't know if you remember given all the drugs they have you on, but you did get shot yesterday." He looks at her bashfully, a faint tease in his eyes.

"I do remember that," Kate says. "The drugs they have me on aren't that good."

They share a smile. It's comfortable and familiar and wrong.

"Yo, Beckett, when you planning on telling us about all the excitement yesterday?" Espo stands at the door, holding a cup identical to the one Castle usually brings her.

Demming looks to Kate as well, eyebrows raised, and waits for her answer.

"I'm fine. I wanted you to enjoy the weekend."

Espo walks into the room and hands her the drink. "Peppermint tea. Helped me after I had knee surgery last year."

"Thanks. How'd you find out?" Kate asks. The cup is warm in her hands. Even with a faint caffeine headache, the idea of coffee roils her stomach. With a warm cup in her hands, though, something soothing sounds unexpectedly good.

Kate takes a tentative sip and hopes her stomach holds up.

"Ran by the precinct this morning and three people ask me how you are." Espo shakes his head at Beckett and looks over at Demming. "Her I don't expect to call, but you?"

Demming holds up his hands. "She told me not to call you. Speaking of the precinct, I should probably head over."

Kate frowns. "Thought you had the weekend off?"

He shrugs as he stands. "Given everything that went down last night, I wouldn't have the weekend off now even if I wanted."

"Have you heard anything else about that guy's motives?" If possible, Kate feels guiltier about Demming hanging out at the hospital when he should be at the precinct than she did when she thought he had the weekend off.

Tom fiddles with the rolled-up sleeve of his plaid shirt. His whole outfit today looks like it came from the Richard Castle casual wear collection. Kate half wonders if Tom did that on purpose. "No. He's not talking."

"If you – "

He chuckles and crosses his arm, looks at her with faint bemusement. "Beckett. You're in the hospital recovering from taking a bullet to your shoulder. And you're not even robbery. Trust me, we've got this."

Espo intrudes. "Yeah, but if you do need help, call me and Ryan. We might even forgive you for not returning Beckett in one piece."

"Will do." Demming says his goodbyes and departs.

Espo turns to Beckett, studies her, before sitting in the recently vacated chair. She sips the tea. While it's not normally something she would drink, already it seems like it's helping her stomach.

"Didn't call Ryan yet. He has some sort of Day of Fun planned with Jenny." That vague look of distaste that frequently accompanies any mention of the cute couple crosses his face. "But you should have called."

Kate really hates when Espo goes to his no-bullshit style. No one else gets to the point the way he does, and she respects him for it, even if, at times like these, she'd prefer Ryan's more circular approach. "Javi, I'm fine."

"If I got shot, wouldn't you want to know?"

"I wanted you and Ryan to have the weekend. I knew if I called, you'd be in the precinct, helping out robbery."

"That's our call to make."

"And it was my call to let you guys relax and enjoy the weekend. I'm fine." Kate shifts gingerly in the bed, careful not to disturb her shoulder, which faintly throbs even with the pain meds. "Besides, you guys are going to be busy enough without me around for the next few days."

"Days? Beckett, it's your shooting arm." Espo shakes his head. "You're looking at a month or two before you come back. Easy."

Kate knows this, but she'll beat the estimates. Never mind that, right now, even wiggling her fingers hurts.

"Castle been by yet?"

"No." Kate takes another drink of the tea.

"Ah. Haven't called him either."

Beckett decides it's time to change the subject. "How was the rest of last night?"

"Broke up right after you left. Montgomery wanted to get home to see his family, and Castle said he should hurry up and get on the road."

"So he left for the Hamptons." This feels like defeat to Kate, as if his leaving means she somehow failed.

"At six o'clock on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend? With that traffic?" Espo pins Beckett with a knowing look. "Guy's not stupid, Beckett. And neither are you."

Beckett recognizes Espo's interrogation tactics. She has sat beside him enough to know his style, but her head's fuzzy and her body's reeling from the shock of the past day. It's too much to combat him. She stares down at her tea. She mulls over her options, and maybe it's a side effect of the meds, but she settles for simple honesty. "Demming and I broke up."

"For real?" Espo sounds legitimately surprised.

"Yesterday afternoon." Beckett continues to look anywhere but at Esposito. She trusts Espo with her life. She shouldn't have a problem telling him about something as simple as a relationship ending.

"That explains the tension when I walked in," Espo says after a moment. "So why haven't you called Castle?"

This time, Beckett does look at the other detective, hopes she can warn him off with a look. "Javi, he's in the Hamptons. He – "

"You don't want him to see you like this." Espo breaks out his shit-eating grin. "Never knew you were that superficial, Beckett."

She is that superficial but no way she's admitting that to Espo. "I didn't call him for the same reason I didn't call you and Ryan. Didn't want to interrupt his weekend."

"Uh huh." Espo's downright smug, and Beckett's stuck in bed, forced to put up with a cocky Javier Esposito, which is the very worst kind of Esposito. "You'd gotta look a lot worse than you do right now to turn Castle off."

Kate's cheeks flame red. "Shut up."

"Here's what's going to happen." Espo's voice is serious now. "I'm gonna head over to the precinct, see if robbery needs any help. Because I want to, Beckett, and you don't get to tell me what I do or don't do on my days off, especially since you'd be chewing my ear off if I didn't call you after I'd been shot."

He has her there.

"Couple hours from now, I'm calling Ryan. Gonna let him have his day with Jenny, but he needs to know. Yeah, you're fine, but he should hear it from you or me instead of a uniform at the precinct." Espo's on a roll. Beckett knows better than to interrupt. "Tomorrow, he and I'll stop by after we hit up the precinct, rag on you for a couple of hours about getting shot at a supposedly-secure crime scene – " He gives her a look that says 'only you.' " – and let you know what's going on with the case."

Getting details about what's happening with the guy that shot her is the first part of the plan Beckett fully endorses.

"You're also going to let us know what we can do to help. Because we're friends, and that's what friends do. And because we're friends, I'll wait until tomorrow to call Lanie, because you look tired right now, and you just know she'll flash her doctor stuff and get in here after visiting hours."

"I already called her."

Espo's eyebrows raise. "You did?"

Beckett shrugs. "Left today to go see her family down South, remember? I wanted her opinion on some recovery options. If anything, Espo, I think she's pissed at you."

"Me?"

"You are supposed to have my back." Beckett just manages to keep her expression serious.

"Can't watch you all the time, Beckett." Espo shakes his head at her. "And you don't sit still well, even after getting shot, which is why you're going to call Castle after I head out so you have something to do."

Kate shakes her head. "Javi – "

"He needs to know, Beckett." There's no give in his voice. "If Ryan or I call him, he'll think we're sugarcoating how badly you were hurt. He needs to hear it from you. And while you're at it, you might want to tell him you're single."

"Since when do you play matchmaker?" Kate deliberately overenunciates the consonants.

Espo's jaw flexes back and forth before he finally speaks. "Yeah, well, you didn't see his face last night when you walked out of there with Demming."

An embarrassingly large yawn sneaks up on Kate. She hates the after effects of anesthesia, even if this particular yawn is well timed. Espo stands but hovers over her.

"He's gonna be hurt if he hears about this from anyone but you. He's proved he's got your back." Espo shrugs. "But you gotta do what you wanna do."

He looks at her again, shakes his head. "And hurry up and get out of that damned bed, Beckett. You're too pathetic right now to raze. And trust me, there will be razing."

His gaze is fond and warm, and Kate reads between the lines to what he's not saying. "Thanks, Espo."

"Anytime. Now get some sleep and then call Castle."

Kate watches him leave. She's tired, yes, but Espo's comments linger. Castle won't care what she looks like, even if pale and wane isn't part of her plan. And he will be ridiculously hurt if he hears she got shot from anyone else. He'll go around with that little boy sulk and make Beckett feel like she kicked a puppy.

Mostly, though, she wants to see him. After talking with Espo, Beckett's desperate to see Castle. A sliver of yesterday's giddiness lodges in her chest. She doesn't want to wait, even if she is the exact opposite of sexy at this moment. Maybe, somehow they can salvage some part of this weekend.

Kate debates how to have this conversation. Part of her wants to make a joke of it, something along the lines of: Hey, I'm single now. That's what I wanted to tell you last night. Also, I got shot. So the goods are, temporarily at least, slightly damaged. Still interested?

A ribbon of numb pain winds out of her shoulder. Beckett hates painkillers with a passion, hates the fuzzy nausea that accompanies them, but she's grateful for the meds today. Even with the drugs, she can't escape the angry throb of her shoulder.

Which reminds her: she's suddenly looking at several weeks of free time. It's presumptuous as hell, but resting in the Hamptons while Castle writes isn't the worst idea in the world. Maybe just for a few days, a redo of sorts to his Memorial Day weekend plans.

Setting down the tea, she grabs her phone. Her phone is fully charged. Tom was kind of enough to bring the charger she had at his place (along with some spare clothes, which was both kind of him and an easy way to handle some of the post-break up return of stuff).

Phone in hand, she hesitates. She's nervous and wishes she didn't have to tell Castle either of these things over the phone. He's going to worry. He'll probably drive too fast back to the city, even if she tells him she's fine and he should just stay out there. Within an hour of his arrival, he'll be driving her nuts and she'll wonder why she was so eager to call him.

She wants him to drive her nuts. Wants him to sit at her bedside and endlessly annoy her, because his antics will distract her. She pictures that grin he gets when delighted by something small and unimportant.

Plus, given the amount she's sleeping at the moment, he'll have plenty of time to write. He might even be more productive here since he told her once that he works better when he has something to occupy part of his day rather than a long stretch of open time.

She hits his number and raises the phone to her ear. She ignores how her hand faintly shakes in anticipation and nerves.

It's Castle. Just Castle, she chants as the phone rings. He needs to hurry up and answer so her stomach will untie itself. Right now, nerves are undoing what the peppermint tea fixed.

The call goes to voicemail. Kate has a pang of disappointment as his usual message plays. She debates hanging up but the beep sounds before she decides.

"Castle, hey, it's Beckett. I'm sorry I had to run out like that yesterday. I really do want to talk with you. It's been a crazy 24 hours. Call me when you get a chance? I'll be around." She pauses. That's all she needs to say, but she keeps talking. "I really wish I were with you in the Hamptons. I hope you're having fun. Anyway. Call me."

Beckett hangs up before she can panic and rerecord the message.

She buzzes with adrenaline. She wants to call him back and keep calling until he answers. He's most likely not picking up because he's writing. He did go to the Hamptons to write and try and make up for how far behind he is on the next Nikki Heat book. Much as she wants to disturb that, as his muse, it does seem like she would be breaking some tenet of the author-muse partnership by distracting from that.

Even the brief rush of the adrenaline can't outpace her fatigue. Checking to make sure her phone's volume is on, she sets it next to her in bed before sleep grabs her.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the warm response to Chapter 1. While my goal is to post at a minimum of once a week, I will (as with this chapter) post twice if I reach a certain point in writing and editing future chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 3

 _Where we left: Kate's at the hospital, recovering from a gunshot wound. Demming headed off to the precinct, Espo took charge, and Castle's not picking up his phone._

* * *

Castle hasn't called back by the time Ryan and Esposito show up late the next morning. Ryan has that pinched, worried look he sometimes gets, the one that makes Beckett think of his years in Catholic school and his fear of getting on a nun's bad side.

Espo hands her a cup of peppermint tea as Ryan asks, "How you feeling?"

"I've been better." This is an edited version of the truth. Beckett barely slept because the pain medicine continues to upset her stomach. The night was a long stretch of neither sleeping nor waking, just hovering somewhere in between. Her body's coming out of the shock from the injury and surgery. She feels like someone filled her veins with cement before running wires that radiate pain out from her shoulder to the rest of her body. "What's going on with the case?"

Ryan pulls up a second chair as Espo takes the same spot as yesterday. Ryan's in a t-shirt and jeans today, meaning he looks even younger than normal. Beckett's actually of the unvoiced opinion that Ryan hates suits but wears them because they keep him from looking like a college freshman.

She takes a cautious sip of the tea. The tea yesterday is the only thing that's come close to calming her stomach. Given how much worse she feels today, she worries that it might instead induce her body into actually throwing up rather than merely threatening it.

Ryan and Espo share a look before Espo says, "DA gave the guy a plea deal."

Beckett coughs on the drink. "What?!"

"Turns out this is a lot bigger than one shop fencing stolen goods. Demming got a whiff of the scale last night during an interrogation, and as soon as he did, they got the DA involved." Ryan's voice has that calm, placating tone he uses when playing good cop.

Beckett has to be hearing this wrong. "The guy shot two cops."

"Yeah, but both are minor injuries." Espo rubs his chin. The movement is harsh and jerky. "DA's still throwing the book at him, but apparently this crime ring's been on the radar for a while but no one's been able to pin anything on them before now."

"Since the guy shot two cops, he's willing to sing like a canary to reduce his sentence." It helps Beckett's state of mind that Ryan doesn't look happy to relay this information.

"Demming's been leading the interrogations since he went in yesterday," Espo says. "He's not happy about the deal, but when I saw him this morning, he said that if even half of what this guy is telling them pans out, they're going to be sending several people to jail and recovering a chunk of stolen property."

"Bigger picture and all that, right?" It comes out more bitter than Beckett intends.

Ryan leans his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together. "Look, it's not ideal. But the guy who shot you is definitely going away, and a lot more people are likely to end up in jail than if that guy went to trial. That's kind of a win, right?"

Kate takes another sip of the tea, which seems to be helping even as her blood pressure skyrockets. "Demming really thinks they'll be able to bust the ring?"

Espo nods. "Downright cocky about it."

"Robbery's called in a handful of their people to start making arrests today. They want to get a jump on them before news spreads about Francis turning state."

"The guy who shot me is named Francis?"

"Cecil Francis." Espo grins.

Beckett can't keep a sneer off her face. If she's going to get shot, it should at least be by someone named something more intimidating than the likely name of a kid who gets his lunch money stolen every day.

"You heard from Castle yet?" Espo asks.

Ryan looks over, his eyebrows raised.

"No. I left a message last night."

"Guy's probably writing." Espo's consoling tone makes Kate feel like a silly girl with a silly crush.

"Why don't I give him a call?" Ryan asks after a moment. "If he's writing, it might take more than one person calling to get him to pick up."

This is true. Kate knows this, but she also spent much of last night's long waking hours wondering if Castle simply doesn't want to talk to her. Maybe he'll pick up for Ryan.

Ryan steps out into the hall. Espo looks at Beckett.

"You look like hell."

At least he's not lying and telling her she looks great. "Thanks for raising my spirits."

Espo glances around the room. "Never sleep well in hospitals. Just let me go home and sleep in my own damned bed."

"Doctor says I may be able to go home tomorrow."

"He actually say that or just sort of agree to get you to stop badgering him?"

Kate shrugs as well as she can with one arm immobilized in a sling. "Little of both. He'd prefer I stay until Tuesday, but he also said there's not much more they can do at this point that I can't do as an outpatient."

The doctor, when he came by this morning, was not reassuring. It's a minor injury and no additional surgery is necessary at this point – for which Kate is grateful – and she's recovering nicely, but both he and the physical therapist were honest about the reality ahead of Kate. Her summer will be recovery and rehab. She will get better, but she has to be patient.

Given that Kate's already impatient, this does not bode well for her sanity. "Told me I should plan on not being back at work until around Labor Day and that anything before that is lucky."

"Desk duty?" Espo asks.

Kate grimaces as Ryan comes back into the room. "Got his voicemail. Left a message telling him to call you."

"Montgomery already gave us the go ahead to come get you from the hospital tomorrow if they let you out and a body doesn't drop," Espo says. Unlike Beckett even before her injury, both Espo and Ryan are on shift tomorrow.

"You don't – "

"Who else is going to come get you?" Espo asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Your Dad's not getting back until late Monday, right?" Ryan asks.

"Hauling your injured ass around beats hanging out at the precinct." Espo grins. "Figure we can take you home, move stuff around for you – "

"Make sure your take-out menus are accessible," Ryan adds.

They're tag teaming her. Likely worked it out ahead of time, just like they do before some interrogations.

"Fine." Let them win this one. Kate needs the help. She doesn't want to wait for her Dad to get back to the city, and there's no one else she wants to call. The boys will do what needs to be done and not hound her with questions or cast worrying looks in her direction. After barely sleeping the previous night, Beckett's tolerance for annoyances is at a not-surprising low.

There's a knock at the door, and Trish, the physical therapist from earlier, stands there. Speaking of annoyances.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have a session with Ms. Beckett?" Trish is nice but young and the only one on the floor not calling Kate "Detective Beckett." Beckett normally doesn't care what title people use, but right now the 'Ms.' chafes. Beckett's a detective, even if she won't be out chasing suspects anytime soon, and she wants acknowledgement of her position.

Espo and Ryan say their goodbyes and leave Kate to the painful ministrations of Trish. Trish has a cheery smile that doesn't falter once as she tortures Kate with absurdly simple exercises that leave Kate rung out.

It's going to be a long summer.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you, thank you, thank you for the wonderful reviews and responses to this story. I've loved hearing people's theories and ideas about this version of the Castle universe and hope the story continues to delight. Since this is a shorter chapter, I guarantee the next installment will be posted later this week.


	4. Chapter 4

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 4

 _Where We Left: Beckett's still shot. Castle's still incommunicado._

* * *

Castle doesn't call on Monday. Kate convinces the doctors to let her go home. While Espo and Ryan chatter and organize her apartment so she can manage on her own, she figures out that Espo has also called and left a message for the non-responsive writer.

Her stomach continues its strike, and she drinks cup after cup of peppermint tea to calm it. Espo buying her two boxes of the stuff might be one of the most thoughtful gifts she's ever received.

In the late afternoon and hours earlier than he had said he would be getting home, Jim Beckett calls to see how her weekend was, and when she tells him, arrives at Kate's doorstep quicker than seems possible. Her Dad spirals between worry at her injury and frustration that Kate didn't call him. That she forgot his friend has a satellite phone is apparently not a good enough reason to not inform her father about a minor gunshot wound.

The evening reminds Kate a great deal of her teenage years. Since sobering up, her Dad sticks to a pretty even keel emotionally. It's easy to forget how riled up he can get, especially in regards to his daughter's proclivity for danger and asking for forgiveness rather than permission. It's both comforting that he cares and annoying that he doesn't appreciate her desire for him to enjoy his weekend sitting on a fishing boat doing nothing rather than sitting next to a hospital bed doing nothing.

Since his wife's death, Jim Beckett isn't as stubborn as he once was. This is especially true in regards to Kate, who appreciates the wide latitude to live her life as she sees fit. This latitude is very much absent Monday night. He insists on sleeping on her couch. It doesn't matter how many arguments Kate makes – how she points out that, unlike her last couch, this one doesn't have a pullout bed, or that it's a new couch and still stiff. When he gives her one of those withering looks he usually reserves for opposing counsel, Kate finally shuts up.

Castle doesn't call on Tuesday. Jim ignores Kate's protests and takes the day off of work. Kate, to her surprise, quickly relaxes into being coddled. She's in pain and feeling misused by the world. It's nice to be someone's child for a few hours.

Her stomach remains delicate and picky. Her Dad makes her sourdough toast with a fried egg, just like he did when she was home sick as a kid. They spend the afternoon watching a Yankees game on TV, and it's nice, sitting on a couch with her Dad and bantering back and forth about the game.

Castle doesn't call on Wednesday. Kate and her Dad get up early for her doctor's appointment, where she's told her recovery is on track and to just keep resting. When she makes her next appointment, she's annoyed that they want to wait until late the following week to remove the stitches.

After the appointment, Kate doesn't have to work very hard to convince her father to return to work: he has two important meetings, plus dinner with a client in from Seattle. Dad doesn't leave her entirely alone, though. Since Kate's still not cleared to take showers, he arranges for a stylist to come by her place and wash and dry her hair. When the woman finishes, Kate blinks back ridiculous tears. That's how fantastic it feels to have clean and styled hair for the first time in five days.

Her biggest accomplishment, though, is avoiding the hospital-prescribed painkillers. Her shoulder still feels more like a tenderized steak than a body part, but her stomach can't take another day of the stronger medication. She continues to take entirely too many naps for a grown woman and drink what might constitute an unhealthy amount of peppermint tea, but for the first time in days, Kate can eat almost normally. Banishing the worst of the nausea is more than worth the added pain.

After work, Espo, Ryan, and Montgomery stop by with dinner. They give her updates on the robbery case. It's good news on top of good news, which helps Beckett's lingering annoyance at Cecil Francis getting a plea deal. The robbery ring is falling like dominos. Since homicide's been quiet, Espo and Ryan have spent the week helping robbery sort through the mounting pile of evidence and interviews. The ring is big enough that it's attracting media attention and Demming ended up on the news last night. Listening to them, it occurs to Kate that she's barely paying attention to the outside world.

The shoptalk transitions to light banter. Beckett's apparently sufficiently recovered to tease, and she laughs along with them, even as she resigns herself to not hearing the end of this for months, if not years. She tries not to think about how everyone studiously avoids mentioning the writer.

On Thursday, Kate's more frustrated by Castle's silence than her injury. She has a checklist for how to deal with her wounded shoulder, even if she's still at the step where she does nothing but sit quietly and avoid jostling it. Castle is more of a question mark.

Her stomach mostly recovered, she enjoys her first cup of coffee in a week. Even with the caffeine, she's too tired to do much. Despite dropping to over-the-counter pain pills, her head's too fuzzy for reading. What remains of her DVD collection isn't easily accessible. The only thing on TV that's worth watching is _Friends_.

It's during the third episode, when Rachel leaves a drunken voicemail for Ross, that Kate begins to worry. No matter how angry Castle is at her or how hurt by what he thinks is her continued relationship with Demming or how immersed in Nikki Heat's world, he should be returning her calls. She's left three voicemails and sent two texts. Ryan and Espo have each left at least one voicemail. Even if his writing is going fantastically, this silence isn't like him.

It's not like him at all. Maybe something is wrong. He's alone in the Hamptons. If something happens to him out there, no one might notice immediately. After all, it is Castle. He has a penchant for finding trouble.

Before Kate can question her concerns or find a logical explanation that does not involve Richard Castle tripping down a flight of stairs and knocking his head, she picks up her phone and calls Alexis.

"Detective Beckett, hi. Is everything OK?" Ambient background noise hints that the teenager is outside.

Kate hesitates.

"Is something wrong with Dad?"

"No. No. I haven't spoken with him since last Friday." Kate gingerly stretches her right shoulder. The uninjured parts throb from stiff nonuse. "Is he in the Hamptons?"

"Yeah. He's supposed to be."

"You haven't talked with him?" Worry coils in Kate's spine.

"We talked for a couple of minutes yesterday, but it was quick. I'm busy with my program and he's behind on the next book. He said he might be looking at Pencon 2."

Kate tries and fails to tease out the meaning of the final words. "What?"

"Like Defcon but for writers. Pencon 5 is normal. Pencon 4 means no video games. Pencon 3 means no videogames, laser tag, or cell phone. Pencon 2 is no videogames, laser tag, cell phone, or Internet."

Kate smiles. That sounds so very much like Castle. "What's Pencon 1?"

"He locks himself in his office with coffee and goldfish and isn't allowed out until he's done. He's never actually gotten to that point."

"And he's at Pencon 3?"

"Yeah. He turned off his cell phone over the weekend and told me to call the house phone if I need to reach him."

"His phone isn't on?" Kate asks blankly.

"That's what he said. Why? What's going on?"

Kate wavers: tell the truth or hedge? "I just needed – " Kate stops cold. This is Alexis. Castle's daughter. If Kate gets her way, Alexis isn't just going to be some teenager. She's going to be Kate's boyfriend's daughter. Kate doesn't want to begin with a lie. "I'm fine, but a suspect shot me Friday night."

Something between a gasp and a long inhale crackles over the connection. "You got shot?"

"Yes, but I'm OK. I had surgery, and I'm home resting now."

"Dad doesn't know." Alexis states this as a fact. "If he did, he wouldn't be in the Hamptons."

"I've been trying to reach him to let him know. I don't want to interrupt his writing, but – "

"No. You should call him. I'll text you the contact information for the house as soon as we hang up. The house doesn't have an answering machine, so if he doesn't pick up, just call until he answers." There's a pause. "You're not just telling me you're OK, right?"

"Really, Alexis, I'm fine. I'm going to be on medical leave for a few weeks and have to rehab my shoulder, but if I had to get shot, this was a lucky one."

In the background, Kate hears someone call for Alexis and a few chattering, indecipherable words. "I'm sorry, Detective, I need to get to class. But I'll send the information right now."

"Thanks, Alexis."

"And, um, I'm glad you're OK. And call if you need anything. And call Dad. But, you know, there's a good chance he's going to kind of sulk and stuff when he finds out you got injured almost a week ago and he's just finding out. But don't hold it against him. It's just because he worries."

Kate smiles widely. "Thanks for the advice, Alexis. Enjoy class."

Less than a minute after they disconnect, a text from Alexis pops up with all of the information for the Hamptons house. Looking at it, Kate feels silly. She's been worrying over Castle's silence for days and thinking all sorts of ridiculous things when there's a perfectly rational explanation.

She braces for the coming phone call. Kate hopes enough time has passed since Demming's interruption to sand off some of Castle's hurt. She'll start off light, teasing. No need to begin with the heavy stuff.

She wants to hear his voice. The last time she went this long without hearing his voice, he was still the annoying writer intruding on her life. She hits the number, listens to the rings, and eventually realizes he's not going to answer. She hangs up.

Kate watches the end of another episode of _Friends_ before she tries again. This time, she blocks her number on the off chance he's avoiding her. Still no answer.

This isn't like Castle. If there's one consistent in his life, it's that he's always easily accessible for Alexis. Even if he's writing, he would make sure Alexis has a way to reach him. This is the guy who spent much of last week worrying about his daughter going to a smart-kid summer program a couple of hours away.

Maybe he's out. If he's out of the house, he might have his cell phone. After blocking her ID, because she is possibly getting a complex that he's avoiding her, she hits his number.

The call goes straight to voicemail.

Cold dread settles in the pit of Beckett's stomach. Something's wrong. She can't call Alexis again. That will only worry the girl. If Castle were at the loft, Kate could ask Espo or Ryan to run over and check on him.

Maybe he is at the loft. Maybe the Hamptons didn't help him write and he's back in New York. Number again blocked, Kate calls the loft. It also goes to voicemail. She doesn't leave a message.

A bark of pain from her right shoulder makes her realize she's tensing her neck muscles. She tries to get her body to relax, but it won't. Some sixth sense is telling her something is wrong with Castle, and she won't relax until she knows he's OK.

One more time, she tries the Hamptons house. The phone rings and rings. Finally, she hangs up.

Kate drops her phone next to her on the couch. With her left hand, she rubs her face.

She's being ridiculous. She's done nothing but loll about her apartment for four days, staring at the television and the four walls. Her mind is bored, and it's concocting elaborate stories to compensate. What she should be concerned about is that she's taking a page out of the Richard Castle playbook and twisting ordinary events into the most convoluted possibility.

But why isn't he calling?

Email. She'll email him. She and Castle communicate over text and by phone – she can count on one hand the number of times she's emailed – but Kate does have his email address in her contacts. She'll email him right now, even though it currently takes her forever to navigate a computer. Alexis said he was merely considering Pencon 2. He might still be online.

If Kate doesn't hear anything by tomorrow, then she can worry. Until then, there's likely a simple explanation. She just doesn't know what that is yet.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the continued warm response to this tale.


	5. Chapter 5

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 5

 _Where We Left: With Castle still MIA, Beckett called Alexis. Castle is writing in the Hamptons, but no one answers when Kate calls the house._

* * *

By 8 am on Friday morning – less than 12 hours of it being exactly a week since she last saw him – Kate Beckett is officially worried about Richard Castle. He's still radio silent.

She's called the Hamptons house twice more with no success. His cell phone goes straight to voicemail. She's refreshed her email inbox enough that she hopes no one pulls a warrant for her records in the next few weeks.

She stares at the contact information Alexis sent her. It includes the address. She debates calling the Hamptons Police Department and asking them to send someone to check on Castle. Worried as she is, that's a step too far. She will not involve another police department in her overactive imagination.

Kate needs to stop staring at her phone. Putting her phone on the coffee table farthest from the kitchen, she flips on the morning news and begins the time-intensive process of making a cup of coffee with one hand. By the time she finishes, she decides that since she's spending the summer in her apartment, she needs to invest in both better coffee and a better coffee maker. Maybe she'll even splurge on the beans Castle buys for the precinct.

Curling up in a chair, she watches the news and does her best to ignore her phone. She wants to call him. She wants to call him, even though she's never before had to leave more than two messages to reach him and most of the time, he responds after one. He's good at replying, good at communication, even when he's writing.

Once she finishes her coffee – perhaps the surest sign that she's still recovering is that she can't handle more than a single cup of coffee a day – she puts water in the teakettle and pulls out another tea bag. She makes a mental note to text Espo and ask where he got the tea. She's already on the second box but doesn't recognize the company name or logo. One of Espo's hidden skills is his ability to find out-of-the-way products. Maybe it's from his time in robbery, but give him enough time and he can find anything in New York. Even those Kinder eggs that are technically banned in the U.S.

She's pouring boiling water over the tea bag when her phone rings. She just about drops the teakettle on her island in her dash to reach her phone. Her shoulder protests the quick movements. When she gets closer, she's both disappointed and concerned to see the 12th Precinct on Caller ID. She mutes the TV before answering.

"Beckett," she says out of habit.

A deep chuckles rolls over the line. "Hate to tell you, but I don't think anyone's going to be calling you about a body drop anytime soon," Demming says.

"Yeah, yeah." Espo and Ryan finally caught a case yesterday. Beckett will admit to no one how jealous she is.

"Haven't seen Esposito since yesterday morning, so I haven't been able to ask him how you're holding up." There's a tentative note in Tom's voice. "Figured I'd call."

Espo mentioned on Wednesday that Demming had been checking in on how Kate is doing. Kate appreciates both his concern and the space. "I'm fine."

Tom is quiet. He's using the silence to prod her into more detail. He does that. He's one of the few detectives more adept at using silence than she is. She never fully relaxes into the quiet, and it's taken years for her to project an outward calm. Demming, on the other hand, enjoys silence. His whole body relaxes. When they did that interrogation together during the Finch case, his calmness initially threw her. Lots of detectives pretend at cool. Beckett could actually feel the waves of calm emanating off Demming.

It's not just at work either. On their first real date, Kate and Tom walked down the street after dinner and shared stories of the asinine things they'd done as rookies. As Kate finished telling him about having a suspect correct her after she screwed up his Miranda Rights, he looked up at her with a half smile. She initially smiled back, thrown by his silent gaze. She's not sure how, but something sparked in that moment, and she couldn't help but reach over to kiss him.

Despite everything in between, it's a good memory, one of those moments when reality and fairy tale intersect. It's why Tom deserves more than a canned response. "I've been better, but I'm pretty good for someone who was shot a week ago. Other than the boredom. Heard you had a crazy week."

"Good crazy. It's the sort of case most detectives are lucky to see once in their lifetime." He sounds both tired and excited. "Thought about calling you a couple of times but figured we could both use some space."

"Thanks. And thanks again for sticking around last weekend." In the intervening days, Kate's had plenty of time to think about last weekend. Tom handled a very awkward position with nothing but kindness. Beckett isn't sure she could have been so generous with someone who had dumped her the previous day.

"You're a fellow detective. That means I've got your back."

"You too." It's true. Kate doesn't want to date him, but she also hopes that, in time, they'll have another opportunity to work together.

A rush of voices filters in through the call. Even that brief moment of the energy and bustle of the precinct leaves Beckett envious.

"Look, I've got to get back to it. Just wanted to check in and promise we'll keep the city in one piece without you. Maybe avoid doing anything too stupid and just rest for a couple of weeks?"

It's such a perceptive comment that Kate bites back her initial response – "you don't know me at all" – and settles for something less charged when talking with a recent ex. "I'll try. Thanks."

As Kate hits the end button, a very stupid idea pops into her head. It's a stupid, stupid idea. It's also the easiest way for her to make sure Castle is OK.

* * *

Not quite two hours later, Kate decides her plan isn't stupid, just slightly ill advised. She's heading to the Hamptons to check on Richard Castle.

Kate also decides that the thing the doctor said about avoiding trips of more than half an hour was a suggestion, no matter how serious he sounded when he said it. As long as she's stuck in New York, she's going to worry. When she worries, her back and neck muscles tense into knots. That tension is probably much more detrimental to her healing shoulder than sitting in an enclosed space for a couple of hours.

Plan A was driving to the Hamptons. Unfortunately, there's no way for her to safely drive with only one good arm, and worried as she is about Castle, she's still a cop and that means she's not putting other people at risk during her little excursion.

Plan B is the train. She buys two tickets so she can have the extra space and put her haphazardly packed bag next to her. A taxi will be waiting for her once she arrives at Montauk. She brought a lightweight paperback she can hold with one hand. It's not one of Castle's. Even now, even when she's more or less going against doctor's orders to track him down, she refuses to give Castle the satisfaction of seeing her with one of his books.

Plus, she only has his books in hardcover. They're too unwieldy to hold at present.

Kate just makes the 11 am train. As the train pulls out of Penn Station, she stares out the window. She's tired. She can't believe how exhausted she is from packing a bag and taking a cab to Penn Station. She feels like someone deflated her. It's a feeling she normally only gets at the end of the tough cases.

She leans heavily against the cushioned seat. She's as close to presentable as she can get. She's wearing a light dress with a loose, built-in bra and has a shawl tucked into her purse. For the first time in a week, she put on a small amount of make up, the best she could manage when using her left hand. Her hair is down in loose waves, not her normal straight style, but something the stylist suggested. Kate's surprised at how well it's held up since Wednesday. Kate's long thought dry shampoo a godsend given the long hours she works, but this week it's been a creature comfort elevated to necessity. She would have preferred to get her hair washed and styled before heading out to see Castle, but once she made up her mind and saw the train schedule, time was of the essence.

All in all, she feels almost human. Even her shoulder feels like it belongs to her body today and not like a foreign entity.

The train rocks. Her shoulder throbs. Beckett's victory feels less preordained.

Within three pages of her book, fatigue pulls at Kate. She hates sleeping on trains, hates being vulnerable in a public place. She straightens, puts down her book. She shouldn't have brought a relaxing read. She should have brought something that would rile her up, make her angry at the world and its injustices. A nonfiction book about corruption or that memoir she bought a few weeks ago by the journalist recounting his time covering the Iraq War.

Staring out the window, she pulls up details from an unsolved murder from two years before. Sara Gutierrez. No criminal connections except for an ex-boyfriend who hadn't been involved in organized crime when they dated. Killed in her apartment. No sign of forced entry or a struggle. Wallet, jewelry: all accounted for. No unusual cell phone calls or activities in the days before her murder. No hint of a motive. Everyone – even the ex-boyfriend from six years before, the one who dumped her – was devastated by her death.

The case lingers with Kate for several reasons, not least because everyone they talked with was forthcoming with information. Everyone wanted to help find the person who killed Sara.

Not closing that case eats at Beckett. It rankles her that she never found even a hint that maybe one of those helpful people hid in plain sight by offering up information to cover their sins. She prides herself at spotting the cracks, but she never found one for Sara.

Sara's case was a few weeks before the Esau Rodriguez murder. They were distant cousins, and for a brief period, it seemed a possibility that the two cases were related. But that possibility – which represented the biggest lead they ever got in solving Sara's death – quickly faded to nothing.

Beckett should let Castle look over the Gutierrez case. Maybe he'll have some off-the-wall insight. She wonders why she never before considered that.

For now, she pulls up what she can remember of the case. Staring mindlessly out the window, careful not to jostle her arm as it rests on the carefully placed pillow, she assembles a murder board in her head.

* * *

Pain jerks Kate awake. It takes her a minute to get her bearings. She's on the train. She's going to the Hamptons. She fell asleep despite attempts to stay awake. Her right arm just hit the window. The pillow she brought along to cushion it now rests on her lap.

She blinks once, twice. Her mind is foggy: stray thoughts from the Gutierrez case mingle with the slowly dawning reality that she's on her way to the Hamptons to see Castle. He has no idea she's coming.

She checks her watch. A quarter to two. If the train's running on time, they should be close to Montauk.

Why is she doing this? Castle's not answering his phone. That's all. He's an adult, despite occasional evidence to the contrary. He's an adult who doesn't even work for the NYPD, who wanted to head out of the city to catch up on his actual job. He's entitled to actually spend time on the job that pays.

This plan is foolish on so many levels.

She got shot a week ago. Impatient as she is to be back to normal, even she can admit she's nowhere close to recovered. She's still dealing with the lingering ripples of the anesthesia. The train ride – what she was awake of it, anyway – has been smooth, but even smooth train rides rattle. Her shoulder aches, aches to the point that she can feel the bullet's exact trajectory through her flesh. Tendrils of pain creep down her arm. She doesn't even have the comfort of her own apartment at the end of this trip.

The entire past week suddenly seems nothing but a series of mistakes. She should have told Tom it would be ten minutes and insisted on talking to Castle. If she had asked for that time, how might the rest of the night gone? Would she still have nine stitches in her shoulder? Would Castle have still left for the Hamptons without talking to her?

No. No. She can't do this, can't second guess what happened. She didn't want to rush that talk with Castle. If she hadn't been at the jewelry shop, the confrontation with Francis still would have happened, only maybe he would have gotten away. Maybe some random person on the street would have gotten shot and maybe that injury would have been much worse than a shoulder.

For that matter, if she had talked with Castle, maybe he would have joined them. Maybe he would have been the one to end up taking the bullet.

This is the problem with hindsight: it's so much easier to assume that everything would have been better if she had done x instead of y or jumped right when she should have ducked left. Maybe what happened, maybe it is the best possible outcome.

Now she just needs to make sure Castle's OK.

* * *

The houses keep getting bigger and bigger. Kate's shoulder aches more and more. It's like some inverse relationship: the bigger the house, the worse Kate feels.

She might need to take one of the prescription pain pills. Despite the nap on the train, her energy levels are close to zero.

She hopes Castle is home. She hopes he's glad to see her. Upon hearing that's she both single and in a lot of pain, she's hope he's OK with directing her to the nearest guest bedroom.

She should have waited. She wants to be back in her apartment, bored and alone. She wants to curl up and be weak. She's belatedly realizing that no matter how much she misses Castle or how much she needs to make sure he's OK, she doesn't want him to see her like this.

She briefly considers asking the driver to turn around and take her to one of the small bed and breakfasts close to the train station. She can check in for the night, sleep, and head back to the city tomorrow.

The cabbie turns into a gravel driveway before she can decide, which makes the decision for her. The house at the end is big, yes, but even from the outside, it's homey and comfortable. It's an older home and well maintained, the sort of big Hamptons place she can see Castle owning. Ferrari aside, he's not ostentatious with his wealth. He's generous and likes nice things, but his preference leans towards quality over quantity or bling.

She doesn't recognize the car at the end of the driveway. In fact, she doesn't see any of Castle's cars. Maybe he has a garage. Or maybe he has a car she doesn't know about.

The cab pulls up behind the Lexus sedan.

"Will you wait for a moment?" Kate asks the driver.

"Sure. Let me get the door for you."

Kate doesn't protest as the driver gets out and comes around to open her door. He extends a hand, and Kate's pleased that she at least manages to exit the backseat with some grace.

She runs a nervous hand through her hair, wishes she had checked her hair and make up during the ride. She had ducked into the bathroom at the train station and managed a halfway decent coat of light-pink lipstick along with running a comb through her hair. She wishes she had checked one more time.

Instead she adjusts the sling around her shoulder and mounts the stairs. Her heart lodges in her throat. She visualizes the next few minutes. She'll knock. Castle will open the door. He'll be surprised to see her. She'll ask if the invitation still stands and tell him she tried to call. He'll notice the sling, ask what happened, but before she tells him, she'll tell him that things are over with Demming, that they were over last Friday and yes, she did get shot, but she's fine, and it's silly, but she had to make sure he was fine too.

She hopes she sounds more coherent when she says all of this aloud.

She presses the doorbell, hears the chimes echo through the house. She avoids looking through the windows on either side of the door. She turns away slightly, takes in the green lawn, the trees, the wood-shingled house.

Her stomach churns. She doubts that even Espo's magical peppermint tea would help at this moment.

She hears the crack of the door and can't fight the nervous smile that forces its way onto her lips. She turns but stops short.

"Gina."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you for the continued support (and extra thanks to guests who have left messages - I'm sorry I cannot thank you personally).


	6. Chapter 6

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 6

 _Where We Left: Beckett ventures to the Hamptons to check on Castle, only for Gina to open the front door._

* * *

"Gina," Kate repeats.

"Detective Beckett, I didn't know you were in the Hamptons." Gina smiles, that cool, calculating grin that reminds Kate of a cross between a kitten and a shark. "Richard didn't mention it."

"He doesn't know." Kate hates how scattered her thoughts are today, how sluggish her brain moves. She's tired and in pain, and Castle's ex-wife opening the door to his vacation house is too much to process. It's the first time she's ever seen Gina in anything other than business attire. Gina's casual in a pair white capris and a loose lilac blouse. Even that soft color scheme fails to diminish the woman's no-nonsense aura.

Gina's eyes drift to Kate's shoulder. "My goodness, what happened?"

"Injured while pursuing a suspect." Kate isn't sure why she omits the part about the gunshot. She wants to downplay the injury, she supposes, and 'I got shot' tends to excite rather than cool people's interest.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it will be a quick recovery?"

"Thanks. Me too." Kate forces her eyes to avoid seeking the comfort of staring at her feet. Instead she reaches up and tucks hair behind her ear.

"Did you want to come in and see Richard?" Gina asks. "I'm on my way out, but I'm sure he'd appreciate the company. You know how he gets."

Castle is here. In the Hamptons. With Gina. Is that why he hasn't called? Kate's spent the past week queasy and entirely too aware of her stomach, but this is the closest she's come to thinking she might actually throwing up.

Kate looks back at the cab. Much as she wants to duck back into the cab and escape, she refuses to stoop to such a ludicrous action of knocking on someone's door only to immediately flee. She's stuck going into that house and making nice until she can escape.

She can't send the cab off with her duffle bag and pillow. She also can't imagine carrying those things into Castle's house under Gina's cool gaze.

Kate wishes it were at least an unfriendly stare, but Gina's expression is placid and cool. Espo joked once that Castle traded in his fiery redheaded first wife for an ice queen second wife. Kate had rolled her eyes and told him to knock it off, even as she thought it was a pretty spot-on observation. Fire for ice.

"I don't want to intrude." This is why people call before they just show up. To make sure they don't interrupt a getaway with an ex-wife.

"I doubt Richard would think you're intruding," Gina says. "I think he'd enjoy the company."

Kate forces a smile. She just sat on a train for three hours for the sole purpose of seeing him. She was worried about him, even if it now seems she had absolutely nothing to worry about. "Yeah, let me just get my stuff out of the cab. My room isn't ready yet, so I have my bag with me."

For an off-the-cuff lie, it's not entirely bad.

Gina waves a hand. "Let me get it for you. You shouldn't be carrying anything with your arm."

Gina's already down the steps when Kate says, "Really, I don't mind."

"Neither do I." Gina leans into the backseat and pulls out the duffle and pillow. "Is this it?"

Gina seems the sort of woman who never travels with anything less than designer suitcases and a matching cosmetics case. Kate's single, beat-up duffle – the easiest thing for her to grab – looks all the shabbier next to Gina's couture. "Yeah. That's it."

"Great." Gina pays the driver before Kate can protest.

"You didn't have to pay," Kate says as Gina walks back up the steps.

"I didn't. Richard did. I'm currently running a tab." Gina smiles, and Kate wonders if the woman is capable of a smile that doesn't look calculating. Stepping around Kate, the blonde opens the front door and motions for Kate to precede her.

Inside the house, Kate's breath catches in her throat. Castle's loft has a darkly masculine ambiance. This house is the opposite: sun and air, white wood and bright windows.

"I have to get going. Richard is down the hall on the left. The open door." Gina puts Kate's bag and pillow on a bench. "Nice seeing you, Detective. I hope your arm heals soon."

"Thanks."

Gina closes the front door behind her. Kate stands in the entryway. She's frozen in place. Now that Gina's gone, Kate has plenty of questions: Why isn't Castle answering his own door? Is it because he's writing? If he is writing, why is Gina of all people encouraging Kate to interrupt him?

Kate will not get any answers standing here, staring at an adorable picture of a young Alexis. Kate wishes that Alexis had mentioned that Gina was here. Although there's a good chance Alexis doesn't know. Castle does seem to keep that part of his personal life separate from his daughter.

This is why Kate strives for logical, rational explanations. Going off gut instincts and feelings and impulses leads to stupid mistakes, like ending up at a house in the Hamptons without an easy way to escape.

But she's here. And there's a mirror a few steps away. It's doesn't matter, but Kate glances at her reflection. She makes sure her lipstick isn't crooked or smeared and her hair presentable. She pauses when she remembers that, a week ago, she stood in the precinct bathroom and similarly preened.

How hopeful, how exciting those moments were. The joy of expectancy, of thinking the coming moments would be everything she dreamed and more. She, out of everyone, should be more cynical, more aware that the world doesn't work that way. Somehow she fell for the optimism. Clearly, she's spent too much time with Castle over the past year, fallen into his childhood sensibility that life will bend to his whim.

Before she can find another reason to dawdle, Beckett strides down the hall, head high, as if approaching a crime scene. She wishes she wore heels and not ballet flats.

No. No second guessing what she cannot change. Anyway, the soft soles of her flats don't give her away the way the click of a stiletto would.

She doesn't want to see Castle if he's going to be smug and happy in his reconciliation with Gina. She broke up with a good guy to be with Castle. She doesn't want to know that she hesitated too long. She wants to turn and leave this house, because if she doesn't know, it can't be true.

She thinks back to her early months as a detective and her one goal: fake it until she made it. That's what she did then. That's what she's going to do now.

She slows as she nears an open door on the left. Unlike the rest of the house, this room has dark wood paneling. Bookcases line the far wall, as packed as the shelves are in Castle's office at the loft. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees the familiar shape of Castle's head.

It's only been a week, but it seems longer. So much has happened, and she takes a moment to stand there and stare at the back of his head like some lovesick idiot. She briefly allows hope to win, to pretend that this will go exactly as she wants, that it won't be uncomfortable and awkward.

She knocks lightly on the open door before she steps into the room. Castle turns, his eyes hooded until he sees her. When his eyes brighten and a smile breaks across his face, her heart shimmies in her chest.

"Beckett – "

"Castle – "

She steps farther into the room. Her eyes widen as she takes in the entire scene. As one, they ask, "What happened?"

Castle sits on the couch. His left foot, propped up on a pillow, is bandaged in layers of gauze. Crutches lean against the end table next to him.

"Demming and I broke up."

Castle scowls as his gaze travels to her arm. "Did – what – "

"And I got shot. And why the hell can't you call back?" Interesting. Now that she knows he's OK – mostly OK, anyway – Kate's surprised by how angry she is. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for the past week. And what happened to your foot?"

Castle blinks, as if he's still processing Kate's presence. "I stepped on glass. And I broke my phone."

They stare at each other. Kate's not sure she's ever seen him dressed so casually. He wears workout shorts and a ratty t-shirt. His hair is messy. His face is pale and drawn, the circles under his eyes more noticeable than usual.

"You got shot." Castle pushes against the couch to sit straighter. "And you didn't – " His face goes blank. "You couldn't reach me."

"How did you break another phone?" Kate's never met anyone who poses more of a threat to phones than Richard Castle.

"Dropped it down the stairs when I got here Saturday."

"And you haven't replaced it yet?" That's not what she expects from Castle, given his fascination with gadgets.

He looks over at her, that appraising look she's grown familiar with over the past year. "Sit down. Oh! Try the chair in the corner. Wide armrests would probably be good support. I'd say one of us could move it closer, but – " He trails off. "You really got shot?"

"Yes, Castle, I really got shot." Kate sinks into the chair. It's heaven. Entirely too soft and cozy, given how tired she is. She slips off her ballet flats and curls her feet under her as she finds a spot in the back corner that supports her entire right side. She relaxes into it.

"Comfortable, right?" He looks at her eagerly.

Kate smiles. "I think this is the most comfortable I've been since last Friday."

"Last Friday?" Castle repeats. "You got shot last Friday?"

"About an hour after I left the precinct."

"Why didn't you call?" Castle's expression veers dangerously close to kicked puppy.

Kate looks at him incredulously. "Seriously, Castle? I got shot, things were a little chaotic, and I went into surgery almost immediately after getting to the hospital, and you want to know why I didn't call."

"But I'm your partner," Castle says. "I should know."

"Yeah, well, why haven't you replaced your phone?"

"I was planning on turning it off anyway. I figured it wouldn't be the end of the world if I waited a few days to replace it. Thought I'd use shopping for a new phone as an incentive to write. Alexis and Mother knew where to reach me."

"How do you think I found you?" Kate asks. "I tried calling here yesterday."

"I was at the urgent care center for most of yesterday."

Kate remembers that foreboding sense of dread that dogged her yesterday. She dismisses it: he hadn't responded to any messages in nearly six days. That's why she was worried, not because of some sixth sense. "Because you stepped on a piece of glass?"

"Hey, it was a big piece of glass." Castle's expression is entirely affronted. Kate raises an eyebrow and waits for him to continue. After a moment, he sighs. "I needed a break yesterday so I went for a walk on the beach. About half a mile from the house, I stepped on a buried piece of glass. All of the houses in that direction are empty, so I had to limp back here." Castle makes a face. "It was kind of gross. Blood, sand – the kitchen looked like a murder scene."

"It's good Gina was here," Kate says, even though she'd like to pretend otherwise.

"Yeah. I'm lucky she hasn't changed her cell number since our divorce."

"What?"

"We ran into each other Tuesday at the market. She's out here for the week with friends. When I made it back here yesterday, I called her for help."

Kate blinks once, twice. "She's not out here with you?"

Castle gives her a disbelieving look. "Have you not heard my very many reasons for why we got a divorce?" He shakes his head. "You never listen to me, Beckett."

"I listen. I just – you guys do get along well enough to work together."

"That's the only way we ever got along. Even when we were married, she was my editor first. Our first anniversary, I convinced her that we should spend a week on St. Barth. Just the two of us. I was little behind on my next book when we left but instead of just letting us enjoy the week, she packed my laptop because, as she saw it, the trip was a good opportunity for me to get some writing done."

Kate feels like she has reveal whiplash. Gina's not out here with Castle. Needing to process this, she changes the subject. "Does Alexis – "

"Haven't told Alexis." Castle grimaces. "About my foot or the phone. She'll worry about the one and lecture me about the other."

"You do break a lot of phones, Castle." Kate fights off a yawn and only partially succeeds.

"How'd you get out here?"

"Train."

"If you got shot a week ago, shouldn't you be resting?"

Kate wishes everyone would stop harping on about her resting. "You weren't picking up your phone. And it's you, Castle, so it's not out of the realm of possibility that you weren't answering because you ended up entangled in an underground Hamptons crime ring." She smiles and raises an eyebrow. Now that she's here, she wants to downplay how much she worried.

"And you were going to come rescue me with a useless shooting arm?"

"I would have managed," Kate says with more swagger than she probably should, given that she's rung out from sitting on a train.

"Just admit it, Beckett. You missed me." His eyes dance in delight.

Kate debates a sarcastic retort, but she's too tired and happy for anything but the truth. "Fine, Castle. I missed you." A second yawn catches her off guard, and she's not at all successful in hiding it.

"Why don't you go lay down? Take a nap?" Castle shifts on the couch. "The cleaning service dusted and changed the sheets in one of the guest rooms. I'd show you where it is, but I'm on strict orders to avoid the stairs."

A bed sounds amazing. Now that she's here, though, now that she knows Gina isn't a spoiler, there's so much she wants to say to Castle.

"Look, Beckett, I'm not going anywhere." He hesitates before adding, "You'll stay for a few days, right?"

It's a week later than she wanted, but she'll take it. "Well, you weren't answering your phone, and I didn't know how else to see if the invitation still stands."

His smile is electric. "Always."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for continuing to read. I hope this chapter atones for Chapter 5's cliffhanger.


	7. Chapter 7

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 7

 _Where We Left: Beckett arrived in the Hamptons, where Castle is not with Gina but is laid up with a foot injury_

* * *

Kate wakes to the ringing of her phone. She rubs a hand over her eyes, orients her head to where she is: Guest room at Castle's house in the Hamptons. Reaching for the nightstand, she grabs her phone.

"Hello?" Her voice sounds like she spent a late night screaming a conversation in a loud club.

"Girl, where the hell are you?"

Feeling like she got caught doing something illegal, Kate struggles to sit upright. "Lanie, hey. Right. You're coming back to New York today."

"Yes, and I repeat the question: where the hell are you?"

Kate freezes. "Are you at my apartment?"

"Yes, I'm at your apartment. Which is where you should be."

"Lanie, I'm fine. I just – I was feeling a little cooped up."

"Kate, you got shot a week ago. And don't start with that whole it's minor and I'm fine. You got shot. You had surgery. Your body needs time to recuperate and rest. And I'm not saying that as your friend. I'm saying that as a doctor."

Kate shifts on the bed. She can't believe how tender her shoulder feels. "Lanie, I am resting. I've done nothing but rest this week."

"Uh huh. Which is why you aren't at home. Because who wants to rest at home?"

"Look, Lanie, I just needed to get out of the city for a few days and took up a friend's invitation. That's all."

There's a long silence on the other end of the line. Kate wishes she could see Lanie's expression.

"Mmm Hmmm," Lanie purrs over the phone. "Well, tell your friend I say hello and I hope his writing is going well."

Kate blushes. "Lanie – "

"No judgment, Kate. Might even be good for you. But you do need to actually rest. Not just spend time in a bed." Lanie pauses, as if expecting Kate to chime in with details. "Call if you have questions about your recovery. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a pint of coffee ice cream that needs to go into a freezer sooner rather than later."

They hang up. Kate looks around the room, considers the best way to proceed from this point. She's been asleep for two hours. She's still exhausted. Her shoulder is letting her know how much it disliked the earlier escapade. Curling up in this bed for the rest of the day sounds amazing.

But she wants to see Castle.

#

Castle isn't in the den. Kate wanders the first floor. She doesn't open any doors, not wanting to intrude and assuming that Castle would make it easy to find him. There's also a chance that he's napping. If that's the case, she doesn't want to disturb him.

In the spacious kitchen, she finds a note on the counter: "Out by pool. Come join. Out the back door and to the left."

Kate breath catches in her throat as she steps outside. She had seen glimpses of the ocean out the windows, listened to its roar in the few seconds between arriving in the guest room and falling asleep, but it's the first time she pauses and appreciates the spectacular view. She's steps from the ocean. The salt-tinged breeze blowing in off the water kisses her lips.

She inhales, exhales, and thinks that maybe she told Lanie the truth: she needs a change of scenery, needs to get out of the city so she can really breathe. She loves the city, loves its energy and bustle, but New York City doesn't lend itself to relaxation.

She needs this: needs the space, the quiet, the change. Even before that bullet, she needed this place. No wonder Castle was so insistent she join him here. In that observant way of his, he knew before she did.

Unlike her apartment, she can picture spending days on end at this house without feeling trapped. That's a presumptuous line of thought, though, even with Castle's earlier invitation.

Beckett follows the path around the side of the house. Her eyes keep darting to the ocean, as if she needs to assure herself that, yes, she's actually here. Coming to the pool, she finds Castle stretched out on a wide chaise lounge. His crutches lean low against the foot of the furniture, nearly touching his injured foot. He wears sunglasses, and Kate can't tell if he's awake.

He's also changed clothes. Still casual but now in a short-sleeved button down and loose linen shorts. She wouldn't be surprised if his hair has been combed as well.

Her heart surges at these details, wants to read hope into them, but her rational side takes over. He wants to look presentable because he has company, not because he wants to impress her. Since seeing Castle, since finding out he's OK and not captured by criminals or bleeding out at the bottom of the stairs or sleeping with his ex-wife, Kate's pleased that the logical side of her brain is again functioning.

As she steps closer, he stretches and turns toward her.

"Sleep well?" His voice is deep and gravely.

"Yes. Thanks." She's still tired and knows she looks it.

"Join me?" Castle shifts, and Kate sympathizes with how carefully he moves to prevent jostling his injured appendage.

She's tempted. There's plenty of room on the chaise for both of them, but it doesn't have any armrests. Kate points to the chair. "If you don't mind, I'll go there. More support for my arm."

"Right." It's hard to tell if he's disappointed. His eyes are so expressive, and Kate dislikes not having them accessible to read his moods.

With her left hand, Kate pushes the chair close enough so she can prop her feet up on the empty side of the chaise lounge. "So, Castle, where's your car?"

It's silly, but this small detail bothers her. On her walk to the pool, she noticed the garage doors open and the three bays empty.

"Out getting thoroughly detailed." He pulls a face. "I, ah, originally planned to drive myself to the clinic yesterday. I figured I could wrap my foot in gauze and be on my way. Only the first-aid kit I bought for the kitchen doesn't include gauze, and there was no way I was going to drip blood through the house searching for some. So I used paper towels as a stand in."

Having tried something similar years ago, Kate has a good idea as to where this story is going. "How'd that work?"

"Not well. The towels slid off as soon as I got into the car, and I'm pretty sure that paper towel's much-touted absorbent properties made my foot bleed more." He pauses. "Foot injuries bleed a lot more than I expected."

"I'm surprised you didn't already know that." Castle's a veritable wealth of information when it comes to the facts and figures of killing and maiming people, after all.

"Learn something new everyday."

"But you didn't drive yourself to the clinic." Kate wants to hear the rest of his story.

"No. I got maybe halfway down the driveway before I accepted that there was no way I'd manage the drive to the clinic. That's when I called Gina."

"And told her to bring gauze?"

"That would have been a good idea but no." Castle's bandaged foot twitches, and Kate wonders if he too has those small phantom pains that have dogged her shoulder for the past week. "She was on her way to some publishing soiree but agreed to stop by and take me to the clinic. In my car. Even with an old towel down, both the driver's side and passenger's side needed a pretty thorough cleaning after yesterday. Gina did at least have the foresight to dump a bunch of hydrogen peroxide on the carpets yesterday after she brought me home."

"She's resourceful." It's easy to be magnanimous toward Gina now that she's no longer a threat, even if Kate hates admitting something akin to jealousy over Richard Castle.

"That's her forte. Give her a project to oversee, and she'll have it organized down to the smallest detail inside of an hour." There's a faint fondness in Castle's voice, and Kate hates the shot of envy that hits her. "When she came by this morning with supplies, she'd already made an appointment for someone from the detailing place in town to come pick up the car. And yesterday she arranged for the cleaning service to come out to deal with the kitchen while I was getting poked and prodded. You know what I realized yesterday?"

A few possibilities pop into Kate's head, but it's Castle. His realizations are rarely what she expects. When she's braced for aliens, he stuns her with perceptive insights. When things seem straightforward, he trots out werewolves and poltergeists. "No."

"For all I've seen my share of grisly crime scenes, I don't want to come home to a kitchen covered in footprints made of my own blood."

It's an awful visual, but Kate smiles. Motioning to his foot, she asks, "How bad is the injury?"

"Could be worse. After hours of x-rays, concerns about nerve damage and blood loss, possible injury to tendons, a whole battery of tests, and a couple of shots, it's nothing more than a minor sprain plus a very wide and deep cut. Too wide for stitches and no weight on it until the wound is healed enough to not reopen."

Kate grimaces. Castle grins. From behind his sunglasses, his eyebrows raise.

"Really, Beckett? You got a bullet in your shoulder a week ago and a cut on my foot has you looking peaked?"

"I hate foot injuries," Kate says with a shiver. "I'd take my injury over yours any day. You're just so trapped with foot injuries."

Castle holds up a finger. "To be fair, I could run if I needed to. I might leave a bloody trail in my wake, but as long as it's not because I'm trying to escape zombies or vampires, I'd make it out."

They lapse into silence. There's so much Kate wants to say, but she's so happy to be back with Castle that she doesn't even know where to start.

"We need a better story," Castle says after a minute. "I always figured if we both ended up injured, it would be from saving all of the New York City."

"I have a good story," Kate says with confidence. "Shot apprehending a suspect."

Castle waves a hand. "No. It should be more interesting. More unique. Although, come to think of it, you haven't told me the details yet. Tell me everything, Beckett."

"On one condition, Castle." Kate leans forward. "You can't use it in the next Nikki Heat novel."

"Deal."

Kate's shocked at how easily he agrees.

"On with the story." He makes a hurry-up motion. "Also, in deference to my injury and currently diminished state, make it as interesting as possible."

"Diminished state, huh?" Shaking her head, Kate wishes she could hide her smile.

"Yeah, I mean, don't get me wrong, I could still shoot a gun – "

"I could shoot a gun."

"With your left hand?" Castle cocks his head at Beckett and, again, she wishes she could see his expressive eyes. "I've seen you try and write with your left hand. No way I'm anywhere close to you trying to aim a gun with your left hand."

"Want to hear the story or not?" Kate asks dryly. She does her best to instill irritation into her tone.

"Yes, but one more question." At Kate's raised eyebrow, he says, "Am I allowed to interject during the story?"

"Would it stop you if I said no?"

"I'm just gauging how annoyed you'll get."

Beckett rolls her eyes and instead of answering, she says, "Earlier in the day, robbery got a tip about a jewelry store … "

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The response to this story continues to leave a smile on my face. Thank you.


	8. Chapter 8

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 8

 _Where We Left: Reunited in the Hamptons, Beckett and Castle reconnected._

* * *

"Are you in trouble?" Castle asks with a mischievous lilt when Kate slips back onto the den. While the room doesn't have the best view, it does have the best couch for Castle and the best chair for Beckett. Reduced to picking where to sit because of injuries: how far the mighty have fallen.

Beckett rolls her eyes. "I'm an adult, Castle. I'm not in trouble."

"You so are," he says, almost giddy. "Don't lie, Beckett."

"He's not thrilled." Kate sinks into the chair before shifting to find that magic spot that cradles her entire right side.

"And?"

"Castle, it was a personal phone call," Kate says, as if that's ever stopped him before.

"Come on, Beckett. Humor me."

Kate tilts her head at him, does her best to give him an annoyed look. "Humor you? What have I been doing?"

"You made me stop asking questions."

"I couldn't even get out a whole sentence without you interrupting."

"You weren't giving enough detail. You know I like my stories with detail."

Kate shakes her head and schools her facial muscles to not smile. "You wanted to know what kind of shoes Cecil Francis was wearing."

"That's an important detail." Castle shifts on the couch and grimaces when his left foot begins to slide off the pillow. Kate tamps down the impulse to jump up and help him.

"How?"

"Not many suspects can outrun you. I mean, if he's in tennis shoes, that's one thing, but if he's in some stiff loafer and beating you? Don't take this the wrong way, Beckett, but that would be impressive."

"And I told you, I don't remember." This is true, and it rankles Kate: in the moments before the gunshot, she was assembling details about the suspect. That she can't even guess as to the color of his shoes annoys her.

Castle sighs. Loudly. "So how much trouble are you in?"

"Castle, I'm not in trouble."

"You sound too petulant to not be in trouble."

Kate raises are eyebrow. "Fine. He's not happy because the doctor told me to avoid long trips for the time being. My Dad worries I might make the injury worse, but I didn't, so he shouldn't worry."

"And?"

"And what?"

"You were gone for over 20 minutes."

"Castle, again, personal call."

"But – "

"No." She doesn't want to discuss the next part with Castle: how her father is unhappy she's in the Hamptons since it means she's going to have to take a long trip again before her doctor's appointment next week. And, unspoken, he's hurt that he can no longer keep an eye on her and that she didn't even think to let him know before she left.

The click of the front door precedes someone calling, "Richard?"

"Den," Castle calls back before turning to Beckett. "That'll be Gina with dinner."

The click of heels echoes down the hall before Gina pokes her head around the door.

"My goodness, it looks like an infirmary." Gina wears a perfectly tailored pale pink A-line dress.

"Beckett and I have been exchanging injury stories," Castle says. "She even gave me an idea for the third Nikki Heat."

Beckett scowls. "I did? When?"

Castle motions to her arm. "Your shooting."

"You agreed you wouldn't use that."

"Yes, for the next Nikki Heat. You said nothing about the ones after that." Castle grins impishly. "I'm thinking of opening with Nikki chasing down a suspect and getting shot, although it'll have to be a graze, because I don't want Nikki going through the entire book with a sling."

There's something terribly unfair about her fictional counterpart getting the better version of her injury. "You said you wouldn't use it."

Castle holds up his hands. "I agreed to your terms. Which were for the next book."

"And maybe before discussing the third book, you should try and finish that next book?" Gina interrupts as she shifts the brown paper bag in her hands . "Did you want to eat in here or … ?"

"Maybe the back patio?" Castle says after a moment. "If that's OK with you, Beckett?"

"Sure."

"Richard, do you need – "

"I can get up from the couch on my own," Castle says petulantly. It's pure male ego talking, and, unexpectedly, Beckett finds herself exchanging an exasperated look with Gina. The blonde simply shakes her head as Castle struggles to his feet.

"Did they drop off the car?" Gina asks.

"Yes."

"And did you – "

"Yes, Gina, I inspected the interior before they left," Castle says curtly as he balances on one foot as he reaches for his crutches.

"You checked both sides and under the – "

"Beckett and I both did." There's a finality to his voice, and this feels like the well-worn treads of a familiar argument. "In fact, she said she thought they did too good a job."

Castle begins to hobble out of the room. Gina and Kate give him a moment before they follow, as if there's some unspoken agreement to allow him to go first.

Gina looks over at Kate, an eyebrow raised. "Too good a job?"

If not for Gina, Kate would shoot Castle a dirty look for dragging her into this. "Yes. Too good a cleaning off blood makes it harder for CSU to find evidence."

"Ah," Gina says, and Kate can't pin down how she means the noise. "Now, Richard, I'm heading back to New York tomorrow."

"You aren't staying for the weekend?"

"Lucinda has a gallery opening tomorrow," Gina says. "I promised her I'd be there, and not having to deal with traffic back into the city on Sunday isn't the worst thing in the world."

"She still sculpting in found items?"

"No. She outgrew that phase." Castle looks back at Gina, and they exchange one of those loaded looks that only people with a long, shared history can. And no, Kate is not jealous. Not at all. "Believe it or not, acrylics."

"I would believe that, but I imagine it's on something like repurposed garbage bins or old cookie sheets." Castle turns in the entry way toward the back patio.

"Chunks of granite discarded from kitchen remodels. Much more tasteful than you'd expect." Gina steps forward to open the French doors.

"The door sticks – "

"I know the door sticks, Richard." This time, it's Gina's turn to sound annoyed. "You renovated the entire house but kept the doors that don't work."

"They work, they just – "

"You almost punched through one of the glass panes trying to get it open – "

"That was once. And they aren't a standard size. They have to be custom built. They work fine. The one just sticks."

As Gina and Castle bicker, Kate hangs back. To think, earlier today she worried they had reconciled.

Gina leans her shoulder into the door to push it open. She steps out onto the patio as she opens the door wide.

Castle looks back at Kate and motions to the patio with his right crutch. "Ladies first."

Kate would rather not step between the feuding duo. Slipping past Castle, she walks toward the edge of the patio. The Atlantic draws her attention, as well as giving her a convenient way to give Castle and Gina some space.

"I'm headed over to the Bialnis' tonight – "

"Tell them I say hello." On a dime, Castle's voice is again gregarious, no hint of his earlier pique.

"And with driving back tomorrow and the opening in the evening, I won't have time to look at anything before Sunday afternoon." Gina's voice oozes professionalism. "But I want something to read Sunday afternoon."

"I know." Annoyance shades the edges of Castle's voice.

"Beginning tomorrow, Julia will be coming by twice a day to drop off meals and do anything around the house that you or Detective Beckett may need. Which reminds me – " Kate nearly jumps when Gina suddenly appears next to her. At some point, the other woman put down the bag of carry out, and she now holds a business card. "This is the number for a salon in town. They specialize in sending people out for house calls. Richard mentioned you'll be staying for a few days. With your shoulder, I thought it's probably unlikely you can wash your hair right now. Since neither of you should be driving, a house call seemed the best option."

Kate takes the card. "Thanks. I'll definitely be using them."

She avoids thinking about the likely cost of a stylist in the Hamptons who makes house calls. The alternative is asking Castle for help. Part of her thrills at the thought of his hands running through her hair. Most of her recoils at the idea of Castle touching her greasy hair.

"Wonderful. Do feel better, Detective," Gina smiles, and for the editor, it's almost warm. "And make sure he actually writes?"

"I don't need a babysitter," Castle says with all the petulance of a six year old refusing to go to bed.

Gina crosses to the table and begins to take the carry-out containers out of the bag. "Not at all. Which is why you're late turning in the second Nikki Heat."

"Yes, Gina." Castle sounds so placating that the words come off as sarcastic.

"And remember our agreement."

"I know."

"Good. Well, Detective Beckett, wonderful to see you, and enjoy your time in the Hamptons." Gina looks to Castle. "Richard, if I have to drive back out here because you're not turning in the manuscript, I will charge you for the gas."

"Oh, come on, your alimony check covers a tank of gas."

Gina nearly rolls her eyes. "Richard – "

He raises his hands off the crutches. "I'm sorry. I'm very grateful for your help the past two days. I appreciate it. I do."

"Anytime," Gina says, and casts him a fond look. "But next time, maybe keep the bloody appendages to the pages?"

"Promise." Castle grins, that boyish smile that's endearing no matter how annoying he is.

Looking between Castle and Gina, for the first time, Kate gets why they got married. They seem so mismatched that the only part of their relationship that ever made sense was that it ended. Looking between them now, both on their best behavior and looking fondly at each other, Kate can see why, at one point, they believed they had a shot at forever.

Gina kisses his cheek before she departs.

"What agreement?" Kate asks to break the encroaching awkwardness.

With a raise of his eyebrows, Castle says, "In exchange for helping me in my hour of need, for the next promotional tour, I have to do what she wants and I'm not allowed to complain about it."

"Wow, Castle. I think she got the better end of the deal." Kate reaches to pull out one of the chairs.

"Let me," Castle steps in front of Beckett to awkwardly pull out the chair.

"Castle, I can get it." Sort of. She would probably be just as awkward, albeit in a different way.

He waves a hand to get her to step away. "No. I can at least do this."

Finally, they both sit. They look at each other, and Castle chuckles. "I don't think it even takes senior citizens that long to sit down."

"We're never telling Ryan and Esposito."

Castle shakes his head. "No. Absolutely not."

They open the wrong take-out boxes and switch them. Castle hands her a bottle of water – thankfully, already opened – before he raises his own in a toast. "I'd rather this were wine, but given that we're both on painkillers, this will have to do."

Kate's gaze drifts to the ocean. This is the sort of vista that should involve wine and not plastic bottles of water, but Trish the PT did suggest Kate avoid alcohol for at least the next month. At least she has company in her tee totaling.

Beckett returns her attention to Castle. In the few second she looked away, his expression transformed into a serious one. It reminds her of last week at the precinct, only this time he's still looking at her and not, as last week, over her shoulder at Demming. There's no Demming here. It's just the two of them.

No, this expression is different. Castle doesn't look defeated. He looks like he's preparing to say something big and important. Kate detects a note of hope under his sober mien, and that's all it takes for hope to pinwheel inside her chest. Her heart beats faster as she waits for him to speak.

They're here, alone and single, in the Hamptons. Earlier today, Kate, for the first time in her life, literally went after a man. Castle's made no secret of his interest in her. Finally, the stars have aligned.

Kate stares into his eyes, holds her body still even as the rush of adrenaline throws every nerve ending into high alert. She spares a thought to wonder at how long, given their injuries, it will take them to maneuver for a kiss. It's easier for her to stand. She'll go to him. She already came to the Hamptons for him: what's two more feet?

Finally, he clears his throat as he raises his water bottle in a toast. "To healing."

And that's all he says.

"To healing," Kate echoes. She hopes he can't see the disappointment in her eyes.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the continued support. Given the coming holiday in the US, I wanted to take a moment to let everyone know that posting may be erratic over the next week or so. I'm hoping to post as scheduled, but if there are any interruptions, please know they are temporary and everything will soon be back to normal.


	9. Chapter 9

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 9

 _Where We Left: Reunited in the Hamptons without interference from Demming or Gina, Beckett and Castle continue to reconnect and heal._

* * *

The sky is a brilliant black over the ocean. On the patio, Castle and Beckett pick over the remains of their meals. The conversation has been easy, comfortable, and surprisingly light. Castle has yet to mention Demming. Beckett wishes he would. She told him they broke up: from where she stands, it's up to him to bring up the subject for more details.

But there's something else – a less charged topic – that has Kate curious. It's something she's wondered about for months, but she never felt it was any of her business. It's still not, but after tonight, the question feels less intrusive.

"So, Castle, why did you and Gina get married?"

Momentary surprise treks across his face before he shrugs. "Honestly? We were both on the rebound, and it was convenient."

"That's it?"

Castle inhales, his shoulders hitching up. "I wish I could say it was some grand love affair, but it wasn't. Not for either of us. We were both coming out of marriages – "

"Gina was married before?"

If Castle's annoyed by the interruption, he doesn't show it. "Yes. To a painter. A painter who makes Meredith look grounded."

"Gina," Kate repeats, because it defies logic.

Castle smiles. "I know, right? They met when she was in Italy the summer after she graduated from grad school. He was an up-and-coming young artist who'd just had a solo show in Rome. They started dating, and what was supposed to be a summer fling ended in marriage a year later."

"What happened?"

"Different goals." He shrugs. "He wasn't as ambitious as her. He talked a lot about art, but there wasn't much doing. It didn't bother Gina at first. After all, she works with writers for a living, and she knows how real and frustrating writer's block can be. She figured it was the same with Stefan. Around the time she was starting to think Stefan liked the idea of being an artist more than the work of being an artist, she found him in bed with one of his models."

"No." Kate, for the life of her, cannot picture someone crossing Gina like that. Gina seems the type to garrote a man for crossing her then calmly wash her hands, change clothes, and go out for cocktails and small talk.

Castle grins. "Oh yes. And to make it better, the model was an assistant at her publishing house. She had posed nude at Parsons and NYU when she was in grad school and needed some extra cash, so Gina recommended her to Stefan."

"I'm surprised you've never used that in a book, Castle. Seems like a good set up for a murder."

"Gina made me promise I wouldn't before she told me the story. Unlike you, she made it clear that was in perpetuity and not just for the next book."

Beckett wrinkles her nose at him but says nothing. For all he solicits her advice about Alexis, it's rare for him to open up like this. She doesn't want to jinx it.

"Gina'd already been thinking about leaving that publishing house – they were one of those stuck-up literary places that make no money but act like they're better than those of us who do make a profit, and she'd realized she prefers commercial fiction – and that settled it for her. A position opened up at Black Pawn, and she became my new editor shortly thereafter."

Castle's wrapped up in the story and doesn't need any prompting. Just like in interrogations when a suspect is in the rhythm and lost in their memories, Kate leans back and waits for him to continue.

"She and I hit it off immediately. I liked John – my first editor – but she brought energy into our partnership. John gave me a lot of freedom, and that was good, but Gina came on the scene around the time my career was really taking off, and she was the right person to have along for the ride." Castle flips the cap from his bottle of water with his thumb and catches it. "Gina's family is old New York society. Not the Astors or Rockefellers but respected. She knows her way around the social scene, and I was in a position financially, even with the divorce from Meredith, to get involved in the charity circuit." He grimaces. "It sounds ridiculous, but the first couple million don't go that far. Especially in New York. But around the time I met Gina, I was looking at my bank account and realizing that I was set for life and that I could do more than just write the occasional check."

For all she knows Castle's wealthy, Kate can't wrap her head around how wealthy. She's never wanted for much financially, but money is a finite resource for her. She's always had a budget. Castle probably has some sort of budget too. It's just such a large amount that it's rarely an issue.

"Gina knows New York society, how to navigate the waters, who's a good contact and who to avoid. It's through Gina that I first met Bob. That was back when mayor was nothing but an item on his ten-year plan. Plus, she's good at those sorts of events. Meredith – " Castle inhales, exhales as he looks for the words. "Meredith likes parties but not those types of parties. She likes being the center of attention, likes a drink and a harmless flirtation, and the few events we went to at the end of our marriage – I hated having her there. Gina, on the other hand, she made it easy."

Castle shakes his head, looks in the direction of the ocean. The water is barely visible in the darkness, other than the occasional white peak of a wave. "It was strictly platonic at first. We were both reeling from our marriages ending because of infidelity – "

"Your marriage to Meredith ended because you cheated on her?" Kate hates the disappointment that grabs her at this revelation.

Castle looks over, his expression wounded. "No. No. I don't – I'm not a saint, but there are some things I don't do. Cheating on a partner is one of them. No, I walked in on Meredith with her director."

Kate's both relieved and guilt stricken. "Wow, Castle, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, it wasn't – our marriage was pretty much over, but I wanted to hold on for Alexis's sake, and Meredith doesn't like doing anything that isn't fun. She hates confrontation. So there was the director and when I didn't instantly break up with her after that – and I should have – she hopped a plane to California and then served me with divorce papers from the other side of the country." Castle rubs his chin. "I make her sound worse than she is. She's not a bad person. It's just that Meredith is all about Meredith. She likes a lot of ideas – marriage, children – but she gets bored. She's not good at day-to-day reality. And Gina, Gina is."

Kate is never going to tell Esposito how accurate he was about Castle's two ex-wives. The other detective will be entirely too cocky at the revelation.

"This probably goes without saying, but Alexis doesn't know that about Meredith, and I'd prefer to keep it that way?" Castle exhales in something that is not quite a sigh. "She's conflicted enough about Meredith without adding adultery to the pile."

"Of course, Castle." Kate meets his eye, her expression serious.

He tilts his head in response. "Thanks."

Kate looks down at the bottle of water in her hand. She mostly has the answers she wanted, and Castle's revealed enough that pushing for more feels unfair somehow, cruel rather than compassionate.

"It's funny, because Gina is practical." Castle raises his eyebrows. "She made me more practical. But our marriage – it only ever looked good on paper. We married the idea of us, and in some ways, it makes even less sense than either of our passion-driven first marriages."

This is the point where Kate needs to talk. After their months working together, she recognizes the uncertainty in his voice as the sign that she should step in with advice or insight. "I don't know, Castle, sometimes you can't predict how things will happen."

He inclines his head in agreement before he continues. "I think what I regret is that we lost our great working relationship. Don't get me wrong, Gina's a great editor and there's no one I trust more with my books, but the ease is gone." Castle hesitates, weighs what he says before he continues. "It's awkward where it never had to be, which, if nothing else, is a lesson in not dating a co-worker."

Ice creeps into Kate's veins. She has to be misunderstanding him. "What do you mean?"

"Just that, sometimes, workplace romances wreck great working relationships." Castle waves a hand vaguely in her direction. "I mean, look at you and Demming. You said you broke up. That's gotta make working future cases together awkward, right?"

"Yeah," Kate says. Her head spins with the subtext in Castle's words. They're finally on the subject of Demming, but it's not the way Kate wanted. "Luckily, we don't work together that often. And just because some workplace romances don't work, that doesn't mean they're all destined for failure."

"No, I suppose not, but you can't know until it fails, and sometimes you just have to ask: is it worth the risk? Is a fleeting romance worth ruining a good thing?"

Kate stares out at the ocean. She can't look at Castle right now. If she does, he'll see her heart break. "No. No, I suppose it's not."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the patience and continued support. Extra special thanks to guests who leave reviews since I can't reply individually. Given the quasi-cliffhanger of this chapter, I didn't want to post it until I was back to posting on a regular schedule and could minimize the wait time.


	10. Chapter 10

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 10

 _Where We Left: Castle talked about his past with Gina and mentioned his belief that coworkers shouldn't date._

* * *

Richard Castle is a flirt. He's a flirt, she misread his harmless flirtations, and that's that. That's his shtick as Richard Castle, best-selling author: he flirts with women, checks them out, makes borderline inappropriate comments. Kate read subtext where there was none like some naïve college freshman.

She comes down the stairs the next morning resolved to be friends. Yes, her heart hurts, but that isn't Castle's fault. It's not his fault that she feels something he doesn't. They can be friends and nothing else. At some future point, she will accept that. For the moment, she can pretend.

She walks into the kitchen to find Castle hopping around on one foot. His crutches lean against a far corner of the counter.

"What are you doing?"

He looks over at her and grins. His eyes twinkle, and Kate wishes her heart wouldn't tap dance in response.

"Good morning, Detective Beckett." His voice is lower than normal, as if she's the first person he's talked to this morning. It's a tone she's only previously heard over the phone after a middle-of-the-night murder.

Hearing that rumble in person, nearly feeling as well as hearing his deep voice, isn't fair. It's not fair to be so close yet so far from what she wants.

"Morning, Castle. Aren't you supposed to be – " She cuts herself off. No way she's asking why he isn't resting when she's sick of people asking that very question. " – sitting?"

Weak save, Beckett.

"Yes, but I wanted coffee, and I thought you might want some too." Castle points to the counter. In front of a small espresso machine, two bowl-sized mugs sit. "One cappuccino, and one skim latte, two pumps sugar-free vanilla."

"You just happen to keep sugar-free vanilla syrup around?"

"No. Asked Julia to bring some by this morning, along with pastries from a bakery in town." He motions to the white bakery box that sits next to the mugs. "I'm telling you right now that you have never had a better bear claw than this one."

He knows her favorite coffee, her favorite pastry. He smiles at her, and she swears he has a smile reserved just for her. She wishes she understood why he doesn't want more.

"Morning's a little overcast, but I thought maybe we could go outside and enjoy breakfast?"

"Aren't you supposed to be writing?"

Castle's playful expression vanishes. "No Gina-ing me."

"Gina-ing you? Really Castle? That's the best you can do?"

"I was out here alone for almost a week." Castle puts a tray on the counter. "I finally have company. At least let me have breakfast with you before I go hide in my office?"

"Out of interest, how do you plan on us getting that tray outside?"

He pauses, a cup of coffee inches above the tray. "Now that you ask, I don't know."

Kate appraises the situation. As expected, her right shoulder hurts today. That's part of why she slept later than her norm. But the rest of her is fine. "Since you made the coffee, how about I carry everything outside so you can get off your feet?"

A familiar look crosses Castle's face. It's not one Kate's seen before on the writer, but it's one she's intimately associated with: the-I-hate-how-pathetic-and-useless-I-am-because-of-my-injury feeling. "Fine."

"How's your foot?" Kate grabs his crutches and hands them to him before he can hop half the length of the kitchen. This close to him, she notices how dark the circles under Castle's eyes remain. To distract her thoughts, she grabs his coffee before following him.

"More bruised. Doctor said it'll get worse before it gets better. He wasn't lying."

"I think my shoulder's discovering new shades of purple."

"My bruising's developing a bull's eye pattern."

Kate steps ahead of Castle. Following Gina's lead from the previous evening, she leans her good shoulder into the door to pop it open, careful to not spill any of the cappuccino. "Bull's eye? Really, Castle? You expect me to believe that?"

He's instantly affronted. "I am not making this up. The bottom of my foot is developing concentric rings."

Kate side eyes him and dryly says, "Sure, Castle."

"If you don't believe me, I will unwrap my foot right now so you can see it."

It really is easy to get a rise out of Castle. Fun too.

The chairs are where they left them last night, making it infinitely easier for Castle to sit down and prop up his foot. Kate puts his coffee on the table. After encouraging him to not wait for her – even though he will – she returns to the kitchen.

With some careful maneuvering she props the pastry box on her good arm. She should get plates, but that would require two trips. Paper towels will be fine, and they can stand in for both napkins and plates. Picking up a roll, she wonders if it's the same roll of paper towels that factored into Castle's story.

Now able to bend her left arm only as far as her wrist, she clumsily lobs a roll of paper towels onto her sling. After briefly teasing slipping off her arm, the roll settles in the narrow nook between her chest and the sling's strap. In a move that requires a sideways lean, she picks up her mug. Loaded down, she heads back outside. She's tremendously grateful she left the door cracked.

As expected, Castle has yet to touch his coffee. Also expected, he scowls when he sees her. "That can't be good for your shoulder."

He stretches to take her coffee and the roll of paper towels. With a shimmy of her left arm, the pastry box slides onto the table. Standing, she looks at Castle and says, "How about I'll stop hassling you about what you're not supposed to be doing with the bottom of your foot cut open if you stop giving me a hard time about what I shouldn't be doing following a bullet to the shoulder?"

"Deal."

The coffee, the bear claw, the view, but mostly the company – all of it is perfect. It's comfortable and that very ease makes it hard for Kate to enjoy it. She wants this, not just for a few days but for years. She wants to come out here with Castle and drink coffee and look out at this view. She wants to kiss his check and tease him about getting some writing done. She wants him to pout and easily persuade her to help him procrastinate. She wants to curl up together and bemoan their injuries while they comfort each other.

"Penny?"

Kate flushes. "The view is spectacular."

"You should stay," Castle says. "I mean, for more than just a few days. It's a good place to rehab."

"I couldn't impose."

"I've imposed on you for the past year," Castle says easily. "Turnabout's fair play."

Kate wants to, but she needs space, time away from Castle if she has any chance at getting over this crush. "I have doctor's appointments in the city."

"So? There are doctors out here in the Hamptons."

He has her there. Kate doesn't have any special connection to the doctor she saw on Wednesday. He was just the guy recommended to her by the hospital. He was nice enough and seemed to know what he was talking about, but she doubts he could pick her out of a line up.

"Your doctor in the city might even have a recommendation," Castle continues as he warms to the idea. "When Alexis had braces, her usual orthodontist recommended someone out here so we wouldn't have to go back to the city for her usual check up."

"I don't know, Castle. You're assuming that I can handle you for more than a few days." When in doubt, there's always dry sarcasm.

"I have endless faith in your abilities." Castle says this seriously, and Kate wants to tell him to stop. He says something like that, in that certain tone of voice, and it makes it that much harder for her heart to disengage, to believe that he's not interested.

Casting around for a safer topic, Kate lands on the pastry in front of her. "This really is a good bear claw."

Kate's pretty sure Castle knows exactly what she's doing. He plays along and grins widely. "I told you. And what do you think about the coffee? The beans are from a local roasting house."

* * *

Castle is off carousing with Nikki and Jameson. Kate, after perusing his many bookshelves, settles on the new translation of _Madame Bovary_. It's not exactly beach reading, but she's heard good things about this new translation. From what she remembers from the lackluster translation she read in high school, the novel is details upon details, making it a good choice when faced with a long stretch of uninterrupted time.

Kate briefly considers grabbing a towel and heading closer to the ocean, but the pool wins due to its comfortable seating options that support her side. She settles for the same chaise lounge Castle sat on yesterday. A rolled-up towel supports her arm. She wishes she had thought of this yesterday. Yesterday when she expected a different future, she should have taken his invitation to curl up at his side, regardless of how platonically he intended it.

She puts the bag she brought from the house next to her. She pulls out her book, a bottle of water (Castle pre-opened a half dozen this morning), and a walkie-talkie. As they finished breakfast, Castle remembered that he had a set of walkie-talkies in an upstairs closet. After replacing the batteries, the two now have a way to communicate without unnecessary movement. Kate made clear she wouldn't interrupt him without cause and threatened to take away his walkie-talkie if he used it to procrastinate.

It's really a shame that he's cute when he pouts.

She stares beyond the pool to the glimpses of water stretching to the horizon. She wants to be here but she wants to be home. She should take this quiet time to devise an excuse to head back to the city. Castle really did mean this invitation as friends, and it's bad enough she intruded on his little writer's retreat without adding her crush to the mix.

But she doesn't want to leave. She made up her mind and admitted her attraction to Castle. It's as hard to turn off as it was turn on (and she's glad she didn't say that last part out loud, because Castle would have a field day with the innuendo). It was the height of hubris to assume that the moment she made up her mind Castle would come running. He's an adult, after all, and life doesn't work that way.

She'll stay until Monday or Tuesday. That will give her shoulder enough time to recuperate, and the visit will be long enough to not seem unusual. For now, she'll ignore her disappointed hopes and enjoy the next few days. Reality can wait until she's back in the city.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the continued support! I will admit to some dramatic license in this chapter as the mentioned translation of _Madame Bovary_ wasn't released until September 2010. Let's go with Castle having an ARC copy.


	11. Chapter 11

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 11

 _Where We Left: Castle seems to just want to be friends and Beckett can't bear to leave the Hamptons_

* * *

Over the next two days, Castle and Beckett settle into a routine. They have breakfast together out on the patio. Afterwards, he disappears into his office to write with only token attempts at procrastination. Kate, wearing shoes, goes for a walk on the beach. He interrupts around lunch. After lunch, Castle returns to his office for a couple of hours. She reads, usually on the chaise lounge by the pool, until guilt gets the best of her and she does the tedious exercises from the physical therapist. She finishes around the time Castle wraps up writing for the day.

They spend the late afternoons and evenings together. On Saturday night, they have dinner on the patio and then watch _13 Going on 30_. The collection of DVDs at the house is lackluster, comprised mostly of movies Alexis once loved but has since outgrown.

On Sunday evening, they play chess in the study after dinner. It turns out that they're equally awful players, and the game devolves from a legitimate match into a competition to see who can lose most spectacularly.

On Monday morning, Kate makes a comment about returning to the city. She's almost embarrassed by how little it takes for Castle to convince her to stay. As long as she's here, reality can wait and she can pretend.

Monday evening, as they linger after dinner and enjoy the ocean, Castle says, "So when you're next appointment?"

"Friday morning."

Castle looks like he wants to say something, but settles for, "So you're going to stay until at least Thursday, right?"

Kate should say no. Instead she says, "I don't want to intrude."

"Are you kidding? I've been way more productive since you got here!" Castle grins. "Face it, Beckett, you're my good luck charm."

Kate tries to tamp down the smile – she does – but it's a failed effort. "Well, Castle, when you put it like that – "

"Then it's settled. You're staying until at least Thursday." He says it seriously, and Kate knows that tone. In Richard Castle's mental to-do list, convincing her to stay past Thursday is now right at the top. "And if you decide to stay longer, you can call your doctor in the city and get a referral."

Kate's met very few people more successful at getting what they want than Richard Castle. In her case, it's pretty easy for Castle to get what he wants if it involves wanting her around, because she's no better than a teenager with a crush when it comes to him.

* * *

Shortly after Castle disappears after breakfast on Tuesday, inspiration strikes Kate.

Esposito picks up on the second ring. "How's the Hamptons? Enjoying how the other half lives?"

Kate sent Esposito and Ryan a text Friday evening to let them know Castle was fine. They were remarkably circumspect in their replies, making Kate wonder what they said to each other and Lanie.

"It's good. Quiet."

"Uh huh. If you think I'm going to feel bad for you, I don't. We got another case less than a hour after closing the last one."

The tick of jealousy insinuates itself into Kate's heart. "What's this one?"

"Looks to be pretty cut and dry. Woman shot and killed leaving her lover's apartment. The husband doesn't have an alibi, and he owns the same type of gun used to kill our vic."

"Castle will be so disappointed," Kate says with a faint smile. "Or glad he's not missing one of the weird ones."

"Castle or you?" Esposito asks dryly. "Ryan says hi. Wants to know why you called me and not him."

"Tell it's because I need to ask a favor, and you still owe me for covering that Friday night last month."

Beckett hears Ryan's voice in the background.

"He says he's glad you didn't call him. What's up?"

"Remember the Sara Gutierrez case?"

"Sara Gutierrez, Gutierrez – " Beckett again hears Ryan's voice in the background. "Right. The unsolved one with no leads."

"Yeah. Think you could send me my case notes?" Beckett asks. "They should still be on my computer."

"No problem. Other than me and Ryan's case, it's pretty quiet here today. I'll have someone scan the photos and send those over too."

"Thanks, Espo."

There's a pause. "Beckett, please tell me you and Castle aren't going to spend your time out there solving cases."

Since the answer is a resounding yes, Kate settles for a non-reply. "I'm thinking Castle might have a brilliant idea or see something we missed."

"You need to learn how to turn it off," Esposito says in reproach.

"We're both injured right now. It's not like we can - "

"Sorry, Beckett, but we just got the ballistics report back, so – "

"Is it a match?"

"Ryan says yes it is a match and that he also thinks you should actually take time off." Ryan's voice echoes in the background, too faint to make out his tone, and Beckett really hates not being in the loop. "So we're going to go arrest the guy, but after that, I'll send over the stuff."

* * *

"We get to solve a murder?" Castle asks after dinner.

"Not likely, but figured it's better than another game of chess," Beckett says.

"I happened to like Tanking Chess."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure either of us can top you sacrificing your Queen to save a pawn and then losing the pawn on the next round."

"So what's the case?"

"Summary is the first document."

Esposito went above and beyond what she wanted: it's the entire file, plus Ryan and Esposito sent over their own thoughts and recollections about the case. Espo also included a note that now they're even.

Beckett and Castle sit shoulder-to-shoulder at the dining room table, crowded around his laptop. His warmth radiates into Kate's left side. He's such a solid presence, and it's hard not to lean into him and cocoon her body in his aura.

Castle quickly finishes reading. "So no suspects. A well-like victim killed in her own apartment. Everyone had an alibi." Castle frowns. "Everyone had an alibi."

"Yes," Kate says, drawing out the one-syllable word to encourage him.

"Everyone had an alibi," Castle repeats again. "Why would everyone have an alibi? I mean, sixteen people and no one was home alone watching TV?"

"That's not unusual. It's not common, but it's not unusual." That detail had jumped out at Beckett initially too, but none of the alibis were either so strange or so convenient as to set off alarm bells.

"No, but the lack of evidence combined with the alibis? Doesn't that hit you as odd?"

"Where are you going with this?" Beckett asks, because she can see the wheels turning in his head.

"Remember the case last fall? The therapist with the misspelling on her face and the pop and drop that was anything but?" His foot propped up on a chair, Castle leans gently into Beckett when he shifts to adjust his foot. The brief increase in contact ends too soon.

"They switched murders."

Castle raises a finger. "Exactly. And they would have gotten away with it, except the they made the mistake of having the murders occur in not only the same jurisdiction but in the same precinct's area and on the same night."

Beckett is already nodding. "If one of the murders had been in, say, New Jersey, we never would have figured it out."

"Exactly. So what if, years before that murder, two people switched murders but were smart enough to make sure they occurred in different jurisdictions and a few days apart?" Castle's in the groove now, leaning forward, his eyes sparking with excitement.

"For a basic homicide, we rarely, if ever, consult with other precincts, let alone other departments," Beckett says the moment Castle finishes talking. She falters when something trips up her thoughts. "But there was no hint of a motive. With the cases last fall, we found possible motives even when we didn't have any suspects."

"No." This deflates Castle.

Beckett's brain clicks through the pieces, tries to find something that will fit, because she likes Castle's theory. It's the first one that's made sense. "Unless it was a private reason, something only the victim and the murderer would know."

Castle nods. "And if no one else knows, you don't have to worry about omitting that detail when you talk to the police."

"Except there was no sign of a struggle or forced entry." Beckett feels like the continual bucket of cold water, her brain eager to find holes in the theory. "If two unrelated people switched murders – "

"But they wouldn't have to be wholly unrelated. It's garden-variety murder. You don't contact everyone the victim knew. Just the key players."

"So maybe it's someone known to the victim, but not so known they'd be called in for questioning," Beckett leans back with a sigh. "Which narrows it down to several hundred people."

"We need to find the other murder," Castle says. "I'm guessing the murders would be close in time. After all, you'd want to make sure the other person's going to hold up his end of the bargain."

"So we're looking for a murder committed, let's say, within a month of Sara Gutierrez's murder." Kate drums her left fingers on the table. "So we want to find another murder committed somewhere in the world in a two-month period. You like trivia, Castle. How many people are murdered on the planet in eight weeks?"

"Well, a 2004 study estimated 490,000 annually, which works out to about 1300 daily. And last year in the U.S., an average of 42 people were murdered daily." Castle stares blankly at the painting on the far wall. "To be fair, we can probably eliminate Antarctica. As we also learned last fall, actual murders in Antarctica are rare."

Beckett faintly smiles. "Still leaves us with about seven billion suspects."

"Seven billion? For all we know, the chimpanzee did it." Castle smirks, clearly anticipating Beckett's frustration with his outlandish theory. "But we can at least limit it to unsolved murders."

Beckett resumes the role of devil's advocate. "Can we? The wrong person could be in jail. Or the death might not have been labeled as a murder. Look at Bobby Mann."

"Now you're just reaching for excuses."

"It's called looking at all the angles, Castle," Beckett says dryly. "But for now, let's start with unsolved murders in adjacent jurisdictions."

"I know the perfect website," Castle says with his little-boy enthusiasm. He leans forward and begins typing after opening a new window. "I found it years ago when I was looking for story ideas. "It's a message board devoted to unsolved crimes."

"If it's the website I'm thinking, they're mostly crackpot conspiracy theorists. Some of them are barely literate."

Castle shrugs. "I find ideas where I can find ideas."

Beckett wonders if this is why he's not interested in her: he doesn't want a cynical woman who enjoys taking him down a peg or three and sometimes talks without thinking. Her thoughts again meander to her assumption that Castle was the one who cheated, which is stupid. She's met Meredith. Of course she would be the one to have an affair, but that's not what Beckett said.

No, it's really not surprising that Castle isn't interested.

"I'm not saying we read the comments – I mean, come on, one of them claimed our first case together was PR thought up by my publishers! Gina's ruthless, but she's not going to kill people for marketing purposes, even if I did need the publicity to sell books, which I don't."

"Focus, Castle."

"Right. So this website. I can't think of a quicker way to track down information on possibly related homicides." He pauses with purpose. "Unless you want to do paperwork to request files from other police departments?"

"Fine," Beckett says reluctantly. "But no falling down conspiracy rabbit holes."

Typing in the web address, Castle says, "Please, Beckett. Everyone knows that half of why you keep me around is the conspiracy rabbit holes."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the reviews and follows and favorites and PMs! I continue to be charmed by the positive response, and I hope the story continues to hold people's interest.


	12. Chapter 12

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 12

 _Where We Left: Recovering together (albeit platonically) in the Hamptons, Castle and Beckett began to investigate an unsolved murder._

* * *

"I think we should look into the Carol Lester murder first." Castle picks up the legal pad they're using in lieu of the murder board. More accurately, the legal pad Castle's using since Kate's attempts to write with her left hand make a kindergartner's letters look like calligraphy. "Twenty-eight years old and discovered by her husband, Tim Farrell. You know, it's really not surprising she kept her maiden name. Carol Farrell sounds like a failed tongue twister."

"Focus, Castle."

"Try saying it three times fast."

"I'm not turning the name of a murdered woman into a tongue twister." Kate shoots him an annoyed look.

He returns her gaze and she half expects him to break out in a chant of 'Carol Farrell' before he looks back down at the pad. "Single GSW to the chest. Rumors that the police suspected the husband but no charges ever – you OK?"

"What?" Kate pauses in her attempts to stretch her right shoulder. Despite being immobilized in a sling, her shoulder aches more when she's tired. She's ignored it for the better part of an hour, but the pain is starting to make her entire arm feel like someone attached it to her body sideways. "It's nothing."

Castle loudly sighs. "Beckett, I don't want to go back on our agreement to not ask about the injuries, but – "

"It's sore. That's all. It hurts when I'm tired."

"Why didn't you say something?" Castle's eyebrows come together. "We can pick up again tomorrow."

"Because we're in the groove." And they have been. They already have a list of eight unsolved murders to investigate.

"Yeah, but we're good at – " Castle yawns unexpectedly, raises a hand to cover his mouth as he looks away. "Sorry."

"Not the first time I've seen you yawn, Castle." It's not even the first time tonight. They've both been yawning since around eleven. It's now the early hours of Wednesday.

"Look, I'm getting tired too. We're at a good stopping point, and we can pick back up tomorrow." Before Kate can interrupt, he says, "After I write."

"Careful, Castle. You're starting to sound responsible."

A slow, lazy grin spreads across his face. "This is fun."

"What?"

He waves a hand between the two of them. "Us. Out here in the Hamptons. Working on a case. We make a good team."

Beckett nods. "We do."

He shifts in his chair. "I wasn't looking forward to this summer and not working with you."

It's the nights when they're both tired that they're the most honest with each other. "Me too, Castle. I was half expecting you to not come back at all."

He doesn't look directly at her. "I have a feeling I couldn't have stayed away for very long." There's a heavy silence before he continues. "After all, how else will I get ideas?"

Beckett smiles. "Well, there is the unsolved murders conspiracy message board."

"True, but not nearly as fun." Pushing against the table, he rises to his feet and extends a hand to her.

Kate's instinct is to tell him she doesn't need the help, especially given his foot. Instead she slips her hand into his. His warm hand engulfs her slim digits and sends pulses of need slipping up her arm and down through her chest. She looks into his eyes, dark as the ocean at his backdoor, and savors the fleeting contact as he pulls her to her feet. She wants him so much, wants to reach forward and press her lips against his, wants more than just the occasional platonic touch. Her eyes trace his features and, unbidden, a thought springs into her head: He really is ruggedly handsome.

"What?" Castle asks.

Kate continues to smile. "Nothing."

Castle leans back to grab his crutches. "Come on, Beckett, tell me."

"Night, Castle." She turns to leave the dining room. "Sleep well."

"Come on, Beckett, no fair!" As there's no squish of the crutches on the wood floors, Castle still stands by the table.

Spinning on her foot, she pivots to face him. "You really want to know?"

Castle nods eagerly. "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Come on, Beckett, you know how impatient I am." There's a definite whine in Castle's voice.

"I was just thinking that I can see why some women would say you're ruggedly handsome."

"Really?" Castle's eyes twinkle. "Would you include yourself in that esteemed group?"

"Night, Castle," Kate says, because they're right up against the line, and she won't go any farther. Her left foot is on the first step before Castle bids her good night followed by the creak of his crutches.

At the top of the stairs, she stops to listens. Downstairs, Castle goes the last few feet to his bedroom before closing the door. Some corner of the house groans as it settles for the night.

In only a few days, the constant rhythm of the ocean has faded into background noise, become a normal part of Kate's days. Now, with the window at the top of the landing thrown open, Beckett focuses on the sound.

Before this trip, she can't remember the last time she listened to the ocean. It's silly, really, that she lives on an island that hugs the Atlantic yet can't recall the last time she heard waves hitting the shore.

She stares out into the darkness, watches for those flashes of white as waves roll into the beach. Her mind drifts to a few minutes earlier.

She's never enjoyed bantering with another man the way she does with Castle. It annoyed her at first, but now those moments when they parry back and forth are the highlights of her days. She thinks of an alternate summer, one where she didn't get shot and follow Castle out here, one where she spent weeks without Castle tagging along at crime scenes or sitting next to her desk or bringing her coffee.

Days upon days without Castle would be dull, listless. She's come to rely on Castle, on the energy he drags into her life, all because the idiot couldn't take no for an answer. He wormed his way into her life and her heart so perfectly that she can't imagine her daily life without him.

And another version of events: one where Gina was out here romantically with Castle, one where Gina answered the door and Castle was fine and just hadn't answered his phone because he was too busy reconnecting with his ex-wife. It's a version of events where Castle and Gina bond over the writing and editing of a Nikki Heat novel. That Kate's alter ego might have brought the two of them back together would have been the worst sort of irony.

But those versions are not the life in front of her. Her reality involves injuries and hours spent with Castle talking over a long-cold case. She's worked with a lot of great people in her years with the NYPD, but none of them – not Ryan, not Esposito, not Montgomery or Royce – has ever clicked with her the way Castle has.

She's a coward.

She's a coward, because the thought of not having Castle in her life terrifies her. She can't handle the thought of losing him, but what they have is no longer enough.

Her shoulder pings, and she readjusts the sling in an attempt to calm it. What is her plan, exactly? To say nothing and go back to the city and wake up on Friday in her apartment, not knowing when she might next see Castle and comparing that Friday to the hope of the previous two Fridays? And, in a few months, when she's back at work and he arrives home from the Hamptons, to continue as before and pretend to be friends and nothing more? What about that day when he does bring a romantic interest to the precinct? Not some fluffy lightweight like Ellie Monroe but someone worth his attention.

Even just imagining that has Kate clenching her jaw and blinking. It hurts to even consider having to pretend at being happy when all she would want to do is to run away.

Run away.

Castle ran away. He suddenly announced he was leaving for the summer. His determination a few weeks ago to prove that one case had nothing to do with the stolen books and was therefore not a robbery.

Castle's always been territorial around her, always made it clear that she was his, something Kate mostly attributed to some guy instinct but now –

He was hurt. He wore the same expression that she would if he was suddenly dating someone.

Castle made one comment, and she got scared. She listened to his words when his actions, for months, have told her differently. She's a detective who earns a living on her powers of observation and yet, when it really matters, she questions what she sees all because she's scared.

She broke up with Demming. She came out to the Hamptons. She smiled through thinking he and Gina were back together. For all of that, she's no closer to what she wants than when she arrived.

She can't continue in this limbo, can't keep solving cases with Castle while pretending she feels nothing but camaraderie. Tomorrow, she vows, tomorrow she'll tell Castle how she feels.

She watches another wave come into the beach. This one is wide and long, a twisting ribbon of white that scatters on the sand. She searches for some deeper meaning, some sign in the waves. For all she thrives on logic and rational explanations, right now she's willing to accept some clear signal from the universal to set her course.

She retreats to her room. Closing the door, she leans against it, breaths in, breaths out. Tired as she was previously, now she's wide awake. The thought of getting into bed to stare at the ceiling and count down the hours until dawn fills her with a sort of dull dread. And worse – worse is the possibility that she will sleep and wake tomorrow with reasons to cling to the status quo.

Before she can think or question, she opens the door. Head high, she strides down the stairs.

She's Detective Katherine Beckett, one of the NYPD's finest. She's the inspiration for Nikki Heat. She's stared down murderers. She escaped an explosion with only a banged-up wrist. At 19, she had her heart broken into a million more pieces than anything Richard Castle could do to her, and she survived that grief.

She's Kate Beckett, the extraordinary KB, and the extraordinary KB isn't a coward.

Raising her left hand, she knocks on Castle's door.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites!


	13. Chapter 13

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 13

 _Where We Left: Despite being the middle of the night, Beckett screwed up her courage to tell Castle how she feels._

* * *

"Beckett? Is everything OK?" Castle, sans crutches, asks when he opens his bedroom door.

Kate stares at Castle. He's changed into a t-shirt and boxers and his hairline is wet from washing his face. Seeing him this casual and on the cusp of going to bed makes her want to talk about the case, to claim some theory that couldn't wait until morning.

"I broke up with Demming because I want to be with you," Kate says, and her throat scalds with her confession. "That's why I wanted to talk to you two weeks ago. To tell you we broke up and that I wanted to come out to the Hamptons with you if the invitation still stood, but Demming interrupted and – "

Castle's lips are rough when they collide with hers. It's almost too much, too fast, and her brain sticks on her planned words, unable to switch to responding to his aggressive but welcome kiss. For what seems like too long, she simply stands there and receives his kiss.

Finally her brain kicks into gear. She lifts into him, rises up on her toes as her left arm slides around his neck to pull him closer. His chest, his lips: everything about him is solid and warm and more than she imagined. The kiss sings with unleashed desire, but it's so much more: something of beauty, deep and rich and laced with promise.

Everything about kissing Richard Castle is more than she dreamed.

She teases his lips with her tongue. She arches into him as he reaches to pull her closer. When his left hand knocks her shoulder, she hisses and abruptly pulls away. Castle, thrown off balance by her movement, momentarily shifts his weight to his injured foot and exhales sharply.

Staring at each other, dazed, they lean against opposite sides of the doorframe.

"Your foot – " Kate begins as Castle says, "Your shoulder – "

Castle laughs first. "It's not supposed to be like this."

"What isn't?"

"Our first kiss."

"You've imagined our first kiss?" Kate asks, because her brain is stuck on the past few minutes. She went from dashing down the stairs to not even making it through half of her confession before he kissed her.

Castle shrugs. "I'm a writer. There are very few things I don't imagine."

"How was it supposed to be?"

"Not injured."

"I – " Kate begins to apologize for interrupting him, but she's not sorry, not even a little. "I couldn't wait until tomorrow."

"I'm glad you didn't." Tentative and so unlike his habit of barging into anything and everything, Castle reaches for her. "I'd come to you, but – "

Kate closes the distance between them. Bravery fueled by lust propels her now. She kisses his cheek, loves the rasp of stubble against her lips. He's hers – he's hers! – but she has no idea what to do with him at this moment. There are so many things she wants to do, but her shoulder throbs and even with the cocktail of hormones and adrenaline currently pumping through her veins, fatigue lurks.

"I thought you weren't interested," she says as his lips trace patterns against her jaw.

He pauses. As he speaks, each exhale teases her skin. "Why would you think that?"

"You said you didn't think people who work together should date."

"Yeah, about you and Demming." His large hand rests on the small of her back, and there's a comfort and ease in the touch that contradicts their few minutes together. It's the touch of a long-time lover, even though they have yet to share more than a dozen kisses. "I was drawing a parallel between Gina and Demming."

Kate leans away from him, needing space to make her point. "But Castle – _we_ work together! You and I!"

"Not technically." Castle pulls her back to him. "Ok, in retrospect, that was maybe not the smartest comment I've ever made. But it's us, Kate, we're different."

Kate runs her fingernails against the nape of his neck. "Castle, that's what everyone says."

"But we _are_ different," he repeats. "I mean, most co-workers don't track down killers or get in gun battles or see each other at 2 am."

"By that logic, I should be with Espo or Ryan." Kate raises her eyebrows in challenge.

Castle scowls. "Can we settle for I'm a writer and the reason writers revise is that sometimes the first draft doesn't flow the way it should?"

Kate presses her lips to his, mostly because she finally can and also because he's cute. Castle returns the kiss, but there's a tentative undercurrent to his movements. When she pulls back to ask if he's OK, her shoulder protests, and suddenly everything makes sense.

She slides her hand into his, tugs him in the general direction of his bed. "You should get off your feet. Use me to balance?"

"Easier to hop," he replies, as he hops along behind her, their hands still intertwined. "Will you stay? And just so there aren't any misunderstandings, I'm asking because I want you to stay."

"I want to stay, but I should probably go change." Kate still wears her clothes from earlier in the evening.

"Borrow a t-shirt?" At the bed, Castle accepts Kate's limited help to lower onto the mattress. "And what about your shoulder?"

"What about my shoulder?"

"You have to do anything special with it?"

"A couple of pillows to prop me up and support it," Kate says. "What about your foot?"

"Nothing." Castle sighs. "This really isn't how it was supposed to go. We're supposed to be ripping off our clothes right now. Falling into bed instead of gingerly sitting."

Kate leans forward and kisses him. Not quite chaste, not quite passion, it's a promise. "Don't worry, Castle, once we're both healed, they'll be plenty of time for ripping off clothes and falling into bed."

"Do you at least need help changing?" Castle asks, his tone hopeful.

Kate wants to say yes, wants to make this into a flirtation instead of being a bucket of cold water. "Honestly, it's easier if I do it on my own. I have a routine."

"Fine. But just so we're clear, you owe me a chance to help you slip into one of my t-shirts."

"Really? You want to help me put _on_ clothes?"

His hand runs along her neck before he cups her face. "There are certain fantasies I have about you wearing my clothes, so yes."

With gentle pressure, he pulls her closer. Their lips meet and that frisson of lust sparks but doesn't ignite. Much as she wants him, all of him, right now this very minute, there's something intoxicating about balancing at this hopeful moment of possibility with him.

"I was wrong earlier," he says against her lips. " _This_ is fun."

* * *

It's pitch black when Kate stirs. She's in the twilight between asleep and awake, that state where her mind is foggy and half conscious but her body is languid in rest. Her shoulder is relatively quiet, still safely cocooned by the pillow.

And there's a hand against her stomach. That's what woke her.

She studies the angles and shadows, wants to save them all in her memory so she can easily pull out this moment years from now. This first night together, waking in the middle of the night, wearing his t-shirt, and finding his broad hand draped casually over her body. There's something terribly intimate about this innocent touch, somewhere between new and comfortable. She thinks of earlier, how his hand at her back felt so right.

Everything about being with Richard Castle feels right. That should scare her – the man has two failed marriages under his belt after all – but after struggling for months against her attraction, trying to deny it, admitting the truth of her feelings for him is easy. Being with him is easy and different than anything she's experienced before. It's not simply hormones or a desperate wish to kindle an attraction. He's more than lust or aching desire.

Richard Castle is the human equivalent of her favorite pair of jeans: comfortable, perfect for her, and the right amount of sexy for everyday life.

Twisting her head, she turns to look at him. He's sound asleep, still handsome, but it's a boyish look now, not rugged. In these moments, she can puzzle out the boy he once was. Without his blue eyes on her, she traces his broad features to her heart's content.

Kate slips back asleep while pondering the individual parts of his face and how they come together to make such a handsome whole.

* * *

She hears the click of the crutches first. Kate debates turning around, but she's in the middle of slowly preparing coffee. She still wears nothing but his old grey t-shirt and her ever-present accessory of the sling. She ducked upstairs only long enough to wash her face and brush her teeth and hair (and possibly put on a tiny bit of make up).

The squeak of the crutches comes closer, sending delightful shivers up Kate's spine. She continues to go through the motions of preparing coffee, even as she stares at a vague spot on the counter and fights the urge to shiver with anticipation.

He stops behind her. There's a moment heavy with expectation as she waits to see what he might do. His hand runs lightly against her side as his lips brush her ear.

"Morning," he says as much as rumbles into her ear.

Turning, she slides her left arm around his neck – taking even more care of both her right side and his crutches after last night – and lightly kisses him. She savors the taste of toothpaste on his lips, loves the mix smells that is just-awake Castle. "Morning."

"I was thinking," he says when they part. "And I revise my earlier statement."

"Which one?"

"The one about this not being how I imagined it. I didn't imagine it like this, but I think it works for us. I mean, think about it. A little unconventional with some bodily harm necessary to get us to this point." Castle's hair is delightfully mussed, and he has yet to shave. It reminds her a bit of his early days at the precinct, when he dressed in a style more befitting of a bestselling writer by day, ladies' man by night. "And why are you frowning?"

"When did you start dressing professionally?" Kate asks.

Castle glances down at his shirt and boxers. "Is this a trick question?"

"No. When did you start dressing more business casual at the precinct?" Kate's mind shifts through memories to pinpoint an exact day.

Castle frowns. "Is there a deeper reason for this question?"

"No, just a stray thought." Kate runs her hand along the blade of his shoulder. "I just – it's been a while since I've seen you with stubble. Even this week, you've been shaving."

"Do you want me to grow a beard?"

Kate wrinkles her nose. "No. Not much for facial hair." Her hand drifts to his face. "But I do like the five o'clock shadow."

Castle leans forward to buss her lips. "I like this. Us. Here. Together. You're going to stay now, right?"

"I don't – " Kate begins, and she stops. She was brave last night and look what she got as a prize. "If I can find a doctor out here, then yes."

Castle beams. "Excellent. So here's what we're going to do. I'll make the coffee. You call your doctor in New York, because, you know – as nice as this slow fall into being together is – I do want to rip your clothes off at some point in the near future without worrying about injuring you."

There are many things Kate could say in reply. She settles for kissing him.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So that's unlucky 13 (not so very unlucky at all). Extra special thanks for the many replies to the last chapter. I'm delighted that people are enjoying this little tale.


	14. Chapter 14

The Worst Possible Time, Chapter 14

 _Where We Left: Castle and Becket are together, both in the Hamptons and romantically._

* * *

"And?"

Kate returns from her morning walk to find Castle waiting for her on the back patio.

"Shouldn't you be writing?" she asks as she makes her way up the steps.

"Just got off the phone with Gina."

Castle doesn't normally sound this happy after talking with his publisher. "Good news?"

"Loves the new chapters. Only some minor edits." Castle extends a hand when she gets closer.

Kate takes his hand and lets him pull her onto his lap. She opens her mouth to comment about the added pressure on his foot, but he catches her lips with his.

"You finally get ahold of your doctor?" Castle asks after a moment.

"I did." Kate runs her fingers lightly along the close-cropped hair on his neck. They've fallen into being together so easily that Kate feels like she should worry about it. Instead she's wondering why they waited so long.

"And?"

"And it turns out he has a place out in the Hamptons," Kate says with a smile. "And he occasionally sees patients at a friend's office out here."

"No."

"Yes." Kate can't stop smiling. "He sees patients in the city until 11 on Fridays then heads out to the Hamptons and stays until Monday afternoon. He said that, if he'd known I was going to be in the Hamptons, he would have arranged to see me out here. Plus, there are a couple of local physical therapists he could refer me to once I'm at that point in my recovery."

Castle's grin is radiant. "I guess that means you can stay all summer."

All summer. It sounds like such a long time. "I don't know, Castle, we might get sick of each other."

"Please, Beckett. If I didn't get sick of you when I had to keep my hands to myself, that's not going to be a problem now."

"So, Castle, since you were into me, why didn't you make a move once I showed up on your doorstep?" It's something Kate mulled over during her walk.

"You showed up on my doorstep with a bullet wound in your shoulder having just gotten out of a relationship. It seemed conceivable you might have taken up my invitation as a friend." Castle's fingers draw loose circles on Kate's right hip. "And just so we're clear, if you had needed to come out here as a friend and nothing more, I would have been fine with that."

"Going to keep clarifying everything?"

Castle shrugs. "Seems like a good idea to avoid future confusion."

"And if I hadn't said anything, were you going to let me just go back to the city?"

"Hadn't decided." He captures her lips with a firm kiss. "Glad I don't have to."

* * *

"You don't have to come with me."

"But I want to. I'm going stir crazy."

"Castle, it's not like you can just walk down the street and browse."

"Yes I can."

"You're supposed to be keeping your foot up."

"You're breaking our agreement to not nag about injuries."

"You kept stopping last night to ask if my shoulder was OK."

Castle and Beckett stare at each other over the island in the kitchen. As Kate was getting off the phone with the taxi service, Castle came in, dressed to go out.

"Look, Beckett." Castle's tone is much more conciliatory than ten seconds earlier. "You're right. I do need to keep my foot up. But I haven't left the house in over a week. You've at least gone for walks on the beach. The farthest I've gone is the pool. I need a change of scenery."

Kate's shoulders relax. It belatedly occurs to her how rigid she's been standing, because, for the first time in two weeks, her shoulder wasn't loudly protesting. "I just – I don't want you to slow your healing."

"I am healing. A couple of hours out of the house isn't going to hurt anything." Castle jerks his head in a little movement he's developed over the past two days to get Kate to come closer. She easily follows. "I mean, if nothing else, it would be nice if one of us could at least drive."

Kate leans into his personal space. "That's not why I want you to heal, Rick."

She steps out of his reach before his lips can connect with hers. "Oh, come on, Beckett, no fair."

"Not now, Castle. We've got a taxi to catch." As if on cue, the soft crunch of gravel under tires echoes from the front drive.

* * *

The doctor's office is right off the main drag in town, in a little white-clapboard building that looks like it should be filled with antiques rather than medical equipment. It's worlds away from the sleek, modern offices Kate visited the previous week. Even the doctor seems more relaxed, more talkative on this visit.

Kate leaves the office without stitches and with an appointment for the following Friday plus a generally optimistic outlook on her recovery. The doctor wants to wait at least another week before she begins physical therapy, which chafes, but less than it would have the week before. For the first time in too long, Kate Beckett has somewhere she'd rather be than work.

She misses work. Not the paperwork but the rush of adrenaline and the puzzle of cases, of the satisfaction of getting justice. Yet there's something wonderful about having this time with Castle without having to be on someone else's schedule. They can, among other things, cuddle without risk of being interrupted by a body drop.

All summer. In the Hamptons. With Castle. It sounds like too much, a recipe for disaster, but she thinks of returning to the city without him, and that's not at all appealing. It's only been an hour since she last saw him, and she's already eager to see him. She even sort of misses him.

Oh, she is pathetic. Pathetic and grateful Lanie's not around to see her like this.

Kate pulls out her phone to call Castle before remembering he still hasn't replaced his broken one. Right. She has to find him the old-fashioned way. Call it a minor, vacation-style mystery.

Before going their separate ways, he mentioned both an ice cream shop and a bookstore. Being as in-touch with his inner child as he is, Castle suggested the ice cream as a reward for Kate going to the doctor. It's unlikely he's there. The bookstore it is.

Walking down the street, Kate browses the windows, as much looking for a bookstore as checking out the different stores and what's available. She stops in front of a women's clothing boutique. It's not the sedate window display that catches her attention as much as part of the sign. She hesitates but decides Castle can wait a few more minutes. She enters the shop.

* * *

Kate, a small brown paper bag dangling from her left hand, finds the bookstore about twenty minutes later. When she opens the door, she sees Rick standing at the counter, talking with an older couple. The woman looks over at the tinkle of the bell.

"Welcome to – " the woman says, but Castle cuts her off with a shout of Kate's name as he waves her over.

When she's close, Castle catches off guard with a peck to her cheek. "John, Patty, this is my girlfriend, Kate Beckett."

Kate's heart drops at his words. It's been two days. It should be too soon to be using that sort of term. It shouldn't feel right and send a delighted shiver up her back.

"Kate, this is John and Patty Fischer. They've been supportive of my career even before I had a place out here."

"Don't give us too much credit," John says. "It's easy to sell well-written books."

Kate doesn't need to look at Castle to know his tiny grin of pride is making an appearance. The grin annoyed her at first, but it's become endearing, how even with 21 bestsellers, at times he's almost bashful about his success.

"My goodness, you two make quite the pair." Patty chuckles. "Is this a case of 'the couple that rehabs together, stays together'?"

"We'll let you know," Castle says lightly. He's in his public persona right now. It's a well-polished mask for him and always leaves Kate feeling awkward in comparison. He's so charming and affable that Kate feels like a tap-dancing elephant, or worse, that ridiculous stereotype of the strict spinster librarian with no sense of humor or social skills.

"How'd you two meet?" Patty asks.

"Ignore her. She's nosey," John says, but there's no censure in his voice. It's more of a tease. Kate's parents used to do something similar, and as always, the thought casts a brief shadow of sadness.

Patty lightly swats his arm. "You know I love hearing how people met. That's not nosey. It's romantic."

"Kate's actually the inspiration for Nikki Heat." Castle's eyes are warm on her, some combination of pride and awe that's too intimate for public.

Patty and John turn to look at Kate, as if seeing her in a whole new light. Kate fights the urge to blush at being the focus of attention.

"You don't say," John says. "Well, that makes you an NYPD detective!"

"Is that how you injured your shoulder?"

"Yes. I, ah, I injured it pursuing a suspect," Kate says.

"She's being modest," Castle says. "She was shot protecting civilians after a man shot another NYPD officer and fled from a jewelry store trafficking stolen items."

As one, John and Patty's mouths drop open. "That was you? We heard about that on the news!"

Kate looks at Castle. What he just said is true but not exactly the version of events she told him. Catching her eye, he shrugs. "I emailed Espo and Ryan. Figured you were playing down the story."

"They said you protected nearly a dozen people." Patty's voice is almost reverent.

"It was more like two, if that." Kate fights the urge to fidget with her sling. Yes, she's proud of doing her job, but that's just it: that's what she was doing. Her job.

She needs to change the subject. "So, Castle, find any books?"

"Three actually. Patty and John are experts at recommending books and uncovering hidden gems."

With that, the conversation transitions to talk of books. When John mentions they've already received four pre-orders for the next Nikki Heat book, it's Castle who is suddenly uncomfortable as he hedges about where he is at writing and editing process for that second book.

By the time they leave the store nearly twenty minutes later, the two couples have loose plans to get dinner some evening. Once they're out on the sidewalk, Kate asks, "What was that?"

"What?"

"You were embarrassed to tell them you haven't even finished writing the second Nikki Heat."

"Yeah, well, you were embarrassed to them about how you got injured."

Kate debates pursuing this subject, but since both subjects make one of them uncomfortable, she decides to call it even. "So, Castle, I have a suggestion."

He shoots her a wary look. "Should I be worried?"

Kate chuckles. "In this relationship, Castle, I think I'm the one who should worry when you have ideas. Not the other way around."

"Hey, my idea of you coming to the Hamptons was brilliant," Castle says. Kate has to be careful to keep her pace slow, because otherwise Castle will silently struggle to keep up with her. "What did the doctor say?"

"Stitches are out. Might start rehab next week. Come on, Castle, you want to hear my idea or not?" It's been close to an hour since the thought first occurred to her, and Kate's impatient for his response.

"By all means, go ahead."

"I'm thinking you should go ahead and get a phone while we're in town. I have a new idea for your reward for finishing the second Nikki Heat."

"Ok. I'm curious. What might that be?"

Kate holds up the bag dangling off her left finger. "You get to find out what's in this bag." Although the sidewalk isn't overly crowded, Kate leans closer and lowers her voice to a tone she knows drive Castle crazy. "Let's just say it's something I wear. Something I wear only for you."

Castle stops walking. Slowly, his eyes trace up and down her body. His face transforms into an almost wolfish leer before he resumes quickly hobbling down the street.

"Come on, Beckett," he calls over his shoulder. "I have to get a phone so we can head back to the house so I can get more writing done."

* * *

The downside of promising Castle a lingerie reward is that, over the next two days, Kate sees much less of him. She's not sure she's ever seen him so fixated on a specific goal, doubly so after he discovered she hid the bag containing the lingerie on the second floor. He can't even snoop to try and find it, and Kate makes a note that Castle considers attempting to find hidden gifts a mandatory part of the gift-giving process.

Not that his time locked away is wholly productive. He's wasted at least a few hours configuring his new phone and testing out the new features. It's the only explanation for how knowledgeable he became about the new model in less than a day.

After making her way through _Madame Bovary_ and one of the books Castle bought, a history of the CIA, Kate needed something lighter. She settled on a murder mystery set in Napa Valley featuring a plucky chef / amateur detective that Castle recommended. She's cruising through the first book, thinking it's a good thing Castle has the rest of the series, when her phone rings.

"Castle, you're supposed to be writing."

"You know, Beckett, I'm disappointed I didn't have a reason to contact you when we still had the walkie talkies."

"Well, if you want, I'll carry one around tomorrow and you can contact me."

Castle makes a dismissive noise. "No. That's cheating. The moment has passed."

"I'm assuming you didn't call about the walkie talkies."

"Carol's husband worked for the same company as Sara's brother. And within six months of the murders, they had both left the company."

Kate sits up at this information, but there's a more important matter to contend with first. "Are you saying that after making me promise up and down that I wouldn't work on the case without you, you're inside working on the case without me?"

There's a guilty pause. "It just popped into my head while I was writing."

"Castle."

"And I wasn't going to look, but when I got up to get another cup of coffee, I walked by the file in the dining room, and – "

"And you have no impulse control."

"Says the woman who accosted me outside my bedroom door in the middle of the night."

Kate's ears burn. "You kissed me first."

"What choice did I have after what you said?"

The rest of her face warms at the memory of those intense minutes. "Castle, would you like me to come inside and look over the case?"

"Yes."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The history of the CIA mentioned above is _Legacy of Ashes._ Although the book was published in 2007, for the purposes of this story, I'm saying that Castle didn't read it when it was originally published because of Derrick Storm fatigue. More importantly, thanks for the continued reviews, follows, favorites, messages, you name it.


	15. Epilogue

The Worst Possible Time, Epilogue

 _Where We Left: Castle and Beckett are together in the Hamptons, kissing and solving cold cases_

* * *

It's closer to October than Labor Day before Beckett's cleared to return to work. Minor nerve damage caused an occasional delay in her right arm's response time, a problem that only healed in the past two weeks. She should mind the wait more than she does.

A warm hand, clumsy with sleep, arrests her attempt to slither out of bed.

"Don't," a deep, scratchy voice mumbles from the pillow. "If we ignore it, reality will go away."

Kate slips back into bed and slides a hand up his chest. "Don't know if you remember, but the reason we're going back today is that you have a book tour. My leave goes for another week."

"Stupid Nikki Heat," Castle says into his pillow. When forced to get out of bed early, he keeps his eyes closed and pouts.

Kate shouldn't find his sulking ritual as adorable as she does. She should find it immature and aggravating. It should absolutely not have her narrowing the space between them to brush a kiss against his lips.

"See?" he says in between brushes of her mouth. "Isn't this so much better?"

"We can still do this back in the city."

"Not when I'm on my book tour." Gina's called in her favor from her help with Castle's foot injury: a thirty-city book tour with no complaining.

If and when Gina extracts another such promise from Castle, Kate's making sure she's included in the no-complaining clause.

"But I'll be just getting back to work and plenty busy," Kate whispers. "By the time you get back – "

"Who knows how many murders I'll have missed." The petulant whine is totally out of place against how his hand slips down her body.

"I promise I'll tell you about all of them over the phone."

"And not reopen the Sara Gutierrez case until I get back."

"Agreed." While they have a strong case against both Carol's husband and Sara's brother, they reached a point that requires both formally reopening the case and police resources. Rather than hand off the case to Esposito and Ryan, Castle and Beckett decided to wait until she was back at the precinct to wrap up the case. It's become their case, and Beckett wants to be there for the end.

Unfortunately, the two other unsolved murders that Espo sent their way (along with an agreement that Beckett pick up one of his Friday shifts before the end of the year as a thank you for being her errand and copy boy) remain unsolved. The lingering questions surrounding the murder of a man with ties to organized crime and a long rap sheet don't bother Kate too much. But the other case annoys her. The roommate is almost certainly the killer but will likely never face prosecution due to shoddy police work.

"Should I take it personally that you're frowning?" Castle asks, his hands still.

"No." She can obsess over unresolved justice soon enough. For now, she has nowhere pressing to be and a nearly naked Richard Castle at her disposal. Taking advantage of her healed shoulder, Kate straddles him in one fluid movement. Leaning forward, she pins his hands above his head. "Reality can wait a little longer."

* * *

"I like what you're doing with your hair."

The comment comes from nowhere. They're nearly back in the city. For most of the trip, they've bantered about unimportant matters. "What?"

"Your hair. I like how you're wearing it. It looks good long." Castle's voice has that rough undertone it gets when he's serious about something.

Kate's ears redden. "It's long because I haven't had it cut all summer. I have an appointment to get a trim on Thursday."

"But it looks good."

"Maybe for the beach, Castle, but I need to look a little more professional back at work." She's been wearing it in loose waves, partially to hide the uneven ends, mostly because it's easier and not just because of her shoulder. After a summer in close proximity to the Atlantic, the damp ocean air has permanently infiltrated her hair. Trying to keep it straight is a fool's errand.

"But couldn't you keep it long?" Castle asks. "I mean, the short hair is adorable and all, but I like this too."

Kate's initial impulse is to tell him that's not his choice, that she's not going to wear her hair a certain way for a man, even a man she loves. But she does like it longer, already plans on getting a trim rather than an overhaul, and isn't it good that her boyfriend likes how she's wearing her hair?

Not that she's going to let Castle win that easily. "You want me to keep my hair long?"

"Yes."

"Fine, then – "

Castle's phone rings. Kate glances over from the driver's seat as he frowns. Despite his entreaties that she always drives (conveniently ignoring the past few months), Kate won today's round after pointing out that her doctor suggested it was good for her to get back into the rhythm of her daily activities.

"Problem?"

"No. Just not sure why she'd be calling," Castle says. Before Kate can ask who she is, he picks up.

"Hello?"

Kate hears a woman's voice – rushed, scattered – on the other end, but can't make out the individual words.

"Yes – yes – no, I remember you. Yes, the NYPD. No, that's still – have you tried calling the police – "

Kate tries to catch Castle's eye, but he's focused on the conversation and staring straight ahead.

"Ok, not the police." Castle scowls. "No, I can swing – Same address? – Yeah, I still have it."

Kate impatiently waits for Castle to hang up the phone. He's holding the phone to his right ear, meaning she can't even eavesdrop. Given his penchant to try and listen in on her calls, he should be more understanding of her curiosity and allow her to listen in, doubly so since they're in a relationship.

Castle hangs up. "Feel like a detour?"

* * *

"How do you know her again?" Beckett asks as they climb the apartment building's stairs.

"Bought a couple of sculptures from her. I think you'll like her work," Castle says. "Maybe we could buy a piece for your new place?"

There was a brief discussion about Kate simply moving into Castle's place when they got back from the Hamptons. Kate's new landlord told her after she was shot that if she needed to move out for any reason, he would waive the penalties for breaking her lease. She found it a surprising bit of compassion in a city not famed for its generosity, at least until Castle pointed out that, as far as the landlord was concerned, she had been both almost blown up and shot in less than six months. To the landlord, she likely seemed a liability to his building.

Regardless of what her landlord may or may not want, she's keeping her apartment. While they cohabited this summer even better than they solve murders together, she and Castle have only been a couple for three months. Kate's not ready to give up her own space. Although, when she calculated how much she would save annually in rent and utilities by moving in with Castle, she did have the thought that independence isn't worth that much.

"So all she said on the phone was that she was in trouble, she needed help, and she couldn't go to the police," Kate repeats when they get to the fourth floor.

"Yeah. Sounded pretty panicked too, which isn't like her. The few times we've met, she's the epitome of calm, cool, and collected. You know, one of those Zen artistic types."

As they near the door, Kate's pulse speeds when she notices the door is ajar. Out of habit, she reached for her holster before she remembers her gun is in storage at the 12th. Her hand drifts for her phone to call Ryan and Espo but stops. The girl specifically said she didn't want the cops involved. For now, Kate will respect that wish.

"Should I knock?" Castle whispers. "I mean, she knew we were coming, so maybe she left the door open?"

Kate hesitates. She doesn't want to risk tipping off anyone in the apartment, but Castle's right: she knew they were coming and plenty of people in New York have the bad habit of leaving a door unlocked when they're expecting someone. She nods.

Castle quietly knocks. "Maya? It's Rick Castle."

There's no response. Kate strains to hear even the slightest noise within the apartment, but there's nothing. Kate nods him forward.

"Maya, I'm coming in," Castle says before he cautiously opens the apartment door. Kate hates that he's going first, but she isn't armed and he's the one Maya called. If Maya is worried about something, she needs to see a familiar face first.

The apartment is as much an artist's workshop as a living space. It's empty, but it's also a mess.

"Someone's been here, and they were looking for something." Kate's eyes sweep the scene, trying to spot anything unusual amidst the mess. "Try not to move or touch anything. She may not want to involve NYPD, but she might have to at this point."

"Maya?" Castle calls, a little louder this time. "It's Rick Castle. I'm here with my girlfriend, Kate Beckett."

This is really not the time to feel a quiver of excitement at hearing Castle call her his girlfriend. He's been calling her that for weeks. But there's something about hearing the term now that they're back in the city that's different, real. As if the months in the Hamptons were a dream, and Kate's waking up to discover it wasn't all make believe.

"Maya?" Kate repeats as she and Castle make their way into the apartment.

At a closed door to what Kate imagines is the bedroom, she and Castle pause. He raises his phone. "Maybe I should try calling her again?"

Beckett nods as Castle hits redial. Her gut instincts are roaring to life, starving and eager to make up for lost time. Right now, she wants her badge, her gun, a CSU team, and the authority to get to the bottom of this.

Beckett and Castle freeze when they hear a ring tone on the other side of the bedroom door.

"Maya?" Beckett says near the door, louder this time. "I'm coming in."

S turns to look for something she can use so she doesn't leave prints on the door. There's a roll of paper towels, but she doesn't want to risk wiping off other prints. Grasping the smallest amount of doorknob she can, Beckett opens the door.

She stops cold at the sight of the body on the bed. Castle bumps up against her before they both step into the room.

"Is that – "

"That's Maya." Castle's voice is grim. "We weren't – "

"If her life was in immediate danger, she should have called the police." Kate runs a hand up his arm to soften her words. "We got here as fast as we could. She didn't say anything about being worried about her life. Just that – "

The words freeze in Kate's throat when they hear footsteps in the hall. Her eyes meet Castle's, silently communicating. He steps back to close the door to the bedroom as Beckett searches for a place to hide.

"There's a gun on the floor behind you," Castle says sotto voice.

Bending down, Kate picks up the gun. It's a different make than hers, but there's something oddly comforting about having a gun back in her head.

Huh. Maybe that's what Castle meant when he joked last week about her needing therapy.

"Sure you're OK to shoot it?" Castle asks.

Kate debates playing it tough, but this is Rick. "No. Get behind me."

It's a sign of how far they've come that he simply nods and follows directions. As he steps behind her, though, the sound of glass crushing under his shoes explodes in the quiet.

There's a rush of noise in the main room. Kate wants to look back at Castle, but instead she stares at the door, aims the gun, and prepares for whatever's on the other side.

The door is kicked in as familiar shouts sound:

"NYPD!"

"Let me see your hands!"

"Drop the – Beckett?"

"Castle?"

At the door, Ryan and Esposito stand, guns drawn.

Beckett exchanges a look with Castle before she turns to her fellow detectives. "Ryan. Esposito. Nice to see you."

Lowering the gun, she turns it so the grip faces Esposito and hands the weapon off to the other detective.

Holstering his weapon as he takes the other gun, he asks, "Beckett, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Castle knows – knew – the victim. She called him when we were heading back from the Hamptons. She said she was in trouble but didn't want to go to the cops." Beckett's body itches with how powerless she feels. "This is Maya Santori, and, if Montgomery's OK with me coming back a few days early, I think I have my first homicide case."

Esposito smirks. "Beckett, we just found you and Castle at a murder scene holding the possible murder weapon. You're coming down to the precinct whether you like it or not."

"Fine. But no handcuffs." No way is she returning to work after nearly four months while wearing handcuffs.

"Can we at least handcuff Castle?" Ryan asks with innocently raised eyebrows.

Beckett doesn't look at her significant other. If she does, she'll smirk and say something about how she's the only cop who gets to handcuff Richard Castle. That's not something Ryan and Esposito need to hear.

"I'll take that as a no. Anyway, nice to see you guys. I'm going to go put in some calls to get an ME and CSU down here." Ryan disappears into the main room.

Kate studies the room, realizes her posture shifted at some point. For the first time in months, she's Detective Beckett. "How'd you guys know to come down here?"

"Evidence at another murder scene." Espo side eyes her. "Already shaping up to be a weird one. Almost like the universe wanted to make sure you got a nice welcome back."

"How weird?" Castle asks.

"You're not calling Gina to get out of your book tour," Kate says as she falls into step with Esposito.

"But I knew one of the victims!"

Beckett turns to look at him. In her serious detective voice, she says, "You're not calling Gina because I am. Given that the NYPD needs your specific knowledge for this case, I'm hoping she'll be understanding about the need to delay the start of your tour."

She doesn't miss Espo's eye roll or Rick's megawatt smile as she pulls out her phone.

It took a summer, but she's finally where she wants to be: back at work, solving crimes, and sharing a bed with Richard Castle.

Kate Beckett is giddy.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** And so, barring a few minor tweaks, I return them mostly as I found them, with Beckett, Castle, and the rest of the gang off to start Season 3.

Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, recommended favorited, followed, you name it, _The Worst Possible Time_. I hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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